


Łe Nòte del Carnevàl

by golden_bastet



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_bastet/pseuds/golden_bastet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baroque Venice (18th century).</p><p>Raimondo Della Straniero is a member of the household of Signore Angelo Cattivo. Holding a position on the Council of Ten - the governing elite of <i>la Serenìsima Repùblica Vèneta</i>, the Most Serene Republic of Venice - <i>il signore</i> took Raimondo in off the streets as a young child, giving the boy an existence that he never could have dreamed of. However, now that Raimondo is an adult, there is a price: publicly, he becomes his patron’s new wife’s <i>cavalier servente</i>, or official companion; privately, he becomes his patron’s lover. It is still, however, easier than living on the streets.</p><p>Bodie works for Signore Giorgio Mucca, in service to the Supreme Tribunal of the State Inquisitors, a secret organization entrusted by <i>la Serenìsima</i> to deal with threats to state security. Bodie’s mission: to investigate Signore Cattivo, who may have plans of his own in the works. Bodie’s methods: to establish contact with either Signore Cattivo’s young wife, or her companion, Raimondo, and find out what they know. And Bodie has his ways of getting… information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Łe Nòte del Carnevàl

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Early morning.

A few scattered birds called out, and a few trees rustled in a scant breeze. Boats rocked against their mooring posts, bobbing against the incoming tide.

It was early enough that the paved _fondamenta_ lining the canal was nearly deserted, with no hint of the crowds which would materialise a few hours later. The merchants were absent, the haggling housewives still abed, and even the whores were done with their nightly toils. True, a few figures were about: one, a silk-clad noble still celebrating the prior night’s revelry, stumbled from a gondola, only saved from tumbling into the waters by the servant at his side. But along the canal all was calm and serene, befitting morning in _la Serenìsima Repùblica Vèneta,_ the Most Serene Republic of Venice, at the close of the eighteenth century.

Above the silent walkway, a balcony shutter creaked open and a man’s head emerged. Not very interested in the happenings below, he directed his gaze up to the sky, shutting his eyes for a second, concentrating on what warmth he could gather from the cool October sun. _Carnevàl._ Today was the first day of _Carnevàl_ , when masks came up and barriers came down, and the city bloomed rich spots of colour under the thin skies of autumn and winter.

There were few things that Raimondo Della Straniero had ever truly loved in life, but he'd always loved _Carnevàl_ , even as a child, as far back as he could remember. The entire city felt festive with the anticipation of upcoming events, everyone ready to add a spark to the cold winter months as they moved towards Lent and early spring. But he particularly loved the costumes and especially the masks: gold and silver and every colour of the rainbow, half masks and full masks and those just covering the eyes, bedecked with ribbons and beads and trims. It was possible to be as plain as the day, or as ornate as an _opera buffa_ character. The only limit was in the imagination.

He also loved the bustle and turmoil: the costumers and mask-makers moving along the grand houses as though planting seeds to blossom into the great artistry that defined the season. As a boy Raimondo had spent hours watching the fruits of that labour, rapt; at times it was easier for him to express his wonder using a muddy finger against a wall rather than the tongue in his mouth. He knew now that inside those big mansions the residents were planning and organising, inviting – and being invited by – the right people to the right parties. But as a lad it was exciting watching the processions glide by from a shadowed doorway, imagining the costume that _he'd_ wear one day. It would have a full mask, white, with a firm chin and gilt around the eyes, topped by a curly black wig and a crown, and a sweeping golden cape which would flow behind him, just like a wonderful character from the _opera_. And then he'd go from gala to gala, people following his entrance and every move, and recline on a luxurious couch, eating the finest tidbits, fed to him by a Nubian boy...

“Ah,” he sighed. Children had such imaginations. He _had_ grown up, had started going to his share of _Carnevàl_ galas, with a little less of the grandeur that he'd imagined as a boy. He'd also seen life become more complicated than endless parties and dressing up. He now moved among the noble class, although as the _cavalier servente_ to Signora Cattivo, his patron's wife. This gave him the all-but-official title of Signora Cattivo's lover, as he escorted her about Venexia, accompanying her to various social engagements – and theoretically keeping her company when the signore was away or occupied and she felt lonely. But the actual truth was hidden; and what few, if any, suspected had become more difficult for Raimondo to bear with the passage of time. He’d made his bargain, and he’d kept it, but he was no longer as sure why as he once had been.

Opening his eyes, he pulled his robe a little closer about him, dispelling the darker thoughts. _Carnevàl_? He still loved it. The artifice allowed him to put aside Signore Cattivo, his mansion Ca’ Cattivo, his status and lands and wife, and lose himself in a whirlwind of colours and sounds and shapes. _La signora_ didn't always want his company close by; so he was often able to explore and mingle at various events, feel a bit of freedom and forget his duties – and reality – for a brief moment. The power of the mask, the symbol of the season, allowed anyone to mix freely with all of society, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant, overcoming social class without truly having to confront it. Some chose the mask to celebrate through the excesses of the plate and the flagon. Some took their celebrations behind doors, in ways that likely would not withstand the light of day. Behind his mask, Raimondo chose to take on a certain kind of freedom: to be someone else for a while.

But Raimondo also remembered waiting for scraps at the kitchens of big houses, glimpses of the lives lived further inside the buildings sparking his curiosity and his imagination – despite it being a long time and a different life ago. Once he _had_ been someone else; and it had been glorious.

“Raimondo,” a smooth voice called from the bed behind him. “Come back to bed. There's no need to stand there freezing. And your wrap is much too thin for this time of year.”

A cross look flashed along the features, brief and quickly fading. _I’m not about to break from standing in the sun._ “Si.” But he didn't turn away from the window quite yet.

Today will be a very long day anyway; let us start it with a taste of what tonight will bring.”

“Si.” Raimondo stepped back into the room, closing the windows on the sun and his thoughts. This was his duty; best to change the subject, keep it light and cheerful. “Si, si, I'm coming back now.” A few more hours and he'd be able to dream again _._ “What a cold day! I took just a quick look outside, but it's definitely warmer in the bed.” Quickly crossing the room, he slipped back under the covers and into the waiting arms of Signore Cattivo.

“Don't worry, I'll warm you back up, Mondo.” His master pulled him down and, initiating a deep kiss, rolled on top of him, easing between the younger man’s thighs.

Down along the _fondamenta,_ beneath that window, a tall, dark-haired figure turned away from gazing up at the balcony as the shutters were pulled to. Heading off down the near-deserted pavement, few were present to notice the intent look on the pale face.

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 **Ten Years Earlier**

“GET AWAY, YOU LITTLE THIEVES!!!”

The angry tones sent several boys scurrying away from a vegetable stall. For one, the curly-haired one, the words ignited a flame inside that made him come alive; he bolted off, the sting of the cobblestones against his soles only propelling him faster. Lifting a coin purse here, a bauble there was second nature to anyone living on the streets; but the feeling of success, of _getting away with it_ gave him a unique charge. It was just part of the excitement to fly along, navigating the crowd: dodging a hand outstretched to stop him, swerving to miss a cart heaped high with goods, vaulting over a pile of refuse in the street.

The boys had split up to avoid pursuit, as they always did, but one head of thick red hair shadowed another head full of curls, matching every step. The two flew down side streets and cut through alleys; then, reassured there were no pursuers, slowed down to blend into the crowds, until they were part of the masses pooling into the chaos of the Rialto Bridge.

From the first time they had met, when Raimondo had sided with a new boy in a mismatched fight, even knifing another to get his point across, Raimondo and Tonio had been inseparable. The two were often to be seen about the market, or various squares, or the neighbourhood at large. Sometimes the heads bent close together as they plotted their next meal; sometimes one head bent back in laughter as the other told a tall tale. Sometimes Raimondo looked on sceptically as Tonio hopelessly tried to juggle the unlikeliest of objects; sometimes Tonio tried to look on sceptically at Raimondo’s sketches that actually did resemble the objects they represented. Raimondo made sure to watch over Tonio, and Tonio made sure to prevent some of Raimondo’s more colorful utterances from getting him in trouble.

They were like brothers and they made sure to look out for each other. Life had granted them no one else to do so.

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“Too fast, that merchant was too fast. He must be new; how else would he be sharp enough to spy us at his stall?” Tonio absentmindedly rubbed his cheek. “A shame – I really could have used an apple.” He plopped down on a stone mooring post facing the water.

“Apple, you said?” Raimondo broke into a chipped-tooth grin, then reached into his tunic. “May this please you, my lord.” In the hand that emerged from the garments was a shiny red apple, which he grandly presented to his friend with a flourish.

“You are a magician! How did you pull that off?” Tonio laughed as he took the fruit.

“All in the wrist, my friend, all in the wrist.” Blue-green eyes danced as he produced a second apple and, sitting down next to his friend, took a bite. “Plus very fast feet.”

They started to laugh, but the little thief froze as a figure swept past. Not just any figure: it was enveloped in a long cape, with a beak-nosed yet elegant mask which accentuated the haughty tilt of the head. _Medico Della Peste_ \- The Plague Doctor. The being walked on, ignoring them, to disappear in the crowds further along. The bearing, the sweep of the cape, the tilt of the tricorn: the effect all combined into a whole that Raimondo couldn’t define but which still called out strongly to him.

“- Hello, Raimondo. Hello. Hello? Demon who’s taken over my friend, let him go so I can talk to him.”

“It’s wonderful, Tonio. Beautiful. Some great artist should capture that in a painting.” The boy continued to stare after the incredible being, now long gone.

“Raimondo, it’s _Carnevàl_. It happens this time every year. Means better pickings for us.”

“But don’t you ever think about it? Think about the _magic_ of it? How much thought goes into even a single thread of a costume, much less all the entertainments and celebrations?”

“What I think about is how to liberate some coin from a purse, so I can eat. As should you, because I don’t want to listen to an entire night of your belly singing.”

“Too bad you don’t like my singing; people come from all corners to hear me play my tunes.” Raimondo stood and stretched, grinning. “Si, si - I know there are opportunities to be had right now. Let’s see what we may find.” Growing serious, he looked once more in the direction the figure had taken. “But some day, I will celebrate _Carnevàl_ and its magic – the way it was meant to be.”

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A gondola slowly cut through the water close to the shore, its sole occupant riding in comfort against plush cushions. At first glance, he appeared to be just another noble on his way to some affair, with barely a glance at the land-bound lesser mortals; however, a pair of extremely alert grey eyes covertly scanned the crowds along the _fondamenta_. There, a small hand reached into a pocket, slowly withdrawing a silk handkerchief – but no, a larger hand grabbed it and hauled the suddenly wailing child away, no doubt to face _la_ _Guardia_. The streets were a harsh teacher, and the child had much to learn.

A little farther down, a slightly older child – this time, a girl – danced for coins near a bridge. The watcher peered more closely, but there was something in her eyes – perhaps too adult, too experienced, too _knowing_ – that turned him away. He leaned back, somewhat disappointed – just as something came sailing into his gondola, landing at his feet.

“Sorry, many apologies, m’lord.” A curly-haired, dirty-faced angel appeared at the edge of the canal, contrite. “If you please, sir, my friend and me were playin’ football, and our ball landed in your boat. Beggin’ yer pardon, can we retrieve it, sir?”

The lad was more than dirty enough but begged so prettily that he could scarcely refuse. “Go ahead, it’s right on the floor.” He nodded, and the gondoliers pulled up to the _fondamenta_.

“Many thanks, milord.” The boy slipped agilely into the boat, dug around the man’s feet, and produced a rag sphere. “Found it right here, sir.”

“That’s good, my lad. Now here’s a coin, and off you go.”

“Thank you, sir!” A wide chipped-tooth grin lit up the face. “Won’t forget your kindness, sir.”

“That’s fine. Now you may go.” It wasn’t necessary to be _too_ friendly, after all.

“Yes, sir.”

The boy shimmied back up to the bank; then, bowing to the noble, melted into the crowds. The passenger’s attention started to shift further along the shore, but moved back to the boy, now speaking with a slightly older red-haired boy. His young visitor said something, then held a shiny object up in the sunlight for the other boy to admire – and, recognising the object, the man looked down at his feet to notice his silver shoe buckles were missing.

Rather than grow angry, however, a grin spread across his face. _Brilliant._ The boy was good. _Very_ good. Possibly even good enough to meet his purposes.

“Pietro?”

“Si, _signore_?” One of the gondoliers leaned forward.

“That boy who was just here. See what you can find out about him.”

“Si, _signore_.” The man jumped lightly onto the _fondamenta_ and disappeared into the crowds.

The _signore_ very much looked forward to meeting the boy again.

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Raimondo had felt uneasy for a number of days.

First, _la Guardia_ had started rounding up the gangs of street kids. At any time, getting caught in the act of liberating trinkets had consequences; but normally the boys were left alone if they weren’t being obvious nuisances. Something had changed, and everyone had become targets.

Then Giuseppe turned up in a side canal, drowned, his body bumping against a piling like so much forgotten refuse. It might’ve made more sense if it had been one of the other boys, like Mario, who lacked skill and grace and just plain common sense. Giuseppe, however, was the best swimmer of them all, often venturing out as far as some of the near islands. His drowning just didn’t make sense. But there was no one who had witnessed anything, and no one to ask.

Then Raimondo himself started feeling a heat in his head and unease in his stomach as though he were coming down with some illness. Not enough to lay him out for any amount of time, and definitely nothing like the whispers of plague they’d all heard. But just enough to slow him down, and make his limbs feel heavy, and set off his timing.

So that morning, he should’ve known that whatever spirits ran with the street boys, normally fickle, were unhappy enough to turn against them. But the choice was to work the streets, or go hungry.

It had seemed simple enough: a stout nobleman in his Sunday finery, the perfect mark, strolling the streets with no thought for danger. Normally, Raimondo would approach the target, beg prettily for a coin, and Tonio would grab the revealed purse; but, because Raimondo was ill, and off his game, they’d decided to switch roles. Just this one time. And as Tonio had spun a sad tale, as the nobleman brought out his purse, as Raimondo slid up to reach for the bag –

His arm was taken in an unyielding, rock-hard grip. He squirmed and kicked, but there was no dislodging the grasp.

“Raimondo!” He could hear Tonio at the edges of his rising panic, but could not get away from the hold. The nobleman apparently wasn’t as unknowing as they’d thought him to be.

He was dragged to the water’s edge, then handed down into a waiting boat. “RAIMONDO!”  The boat started off, while Raimondo fought his way upright. A splash sounded behind him and he glimpsed Tonio swimming towards the boat, which was still angling way from the shore and hadn’t yet picked up speed. The boy fought with all he had, as a dripping red head emerged at the side of the boat. Raimondo squirmed free and reached over to grab him – as an oar sailed over him and caught Tonio in the side of the head, knocking him into the water. Raimondo was grabbed and dragged back down to the bottom of the boat as it sped away, fighting harder but unable to do anything more. He bit one of the hands holding him down, but a cloth was placed over his nose and mouth, and everything faded to black.

When he woke, it was to a soft bed with linens finer than he ever could have imagined. A face looked down at him with a gentle gaze – a face he thought he’d seen before, but couldn’t remember where.

“Tonio?”  Raimondo sat up, which only made him feel dizzy and nauseous.

“Shh, sit back. You won’t feel well for a while, yet. Tonio is a friend, correct?”

A quick bounce of curls signalled yes.  Raimondo was frightened, but the streets had taught him well enough not to show fear.

“I’m very sorry my men were careless. They shouldn’t have hurt him, and I will make sure they are punished. But will you tell me your name?”

He refused to speak.

“I truly am sorry about your friend, but I do want to help you.”

Blue-green eyes, the colour of turbulent waters, regarded the man coolly.

“My name is Angelo Cattivo; I am the master of this house, Ca’ Cattivo, where you now find yourself. Welcome to my home. You may not realise this, but you are a very talented, very special boy - a boy with much promise. We have much to discuss about your future.”

He pulled a luxuriously soft cover up to just under Raimondo’s chin. “But we can speak of these things later. For now, sleep. There will be more time when you awake and feel better. And I am sorry about your friend.”

Raimondo wanted to stay awake, to figure out what was happening and what would happen. But thoughts of escape dissolved to sleep.

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Six months at the great house, and Raimondo was still looking for a way out.

Overall, the household had accepted him – was even nice to him at times. His tantrums had ended quickly, once he realised that no one asked for anything in return for the food and clothing he was given. Attempts to bathe him no longer led to bruised shins and bitten fingers, especially after a few sweet _fritole_ to bribe him at the end of the ordeal. He was even known to sit quietly on occasion and occupy himself; after a maid had spied him scribbling on a scrap of paper, he found himself with a supply of laid paper and drawing charcoals to do with as he would. Glimpses of a bright-eyed, quick-witted boy became evident. ****

However, a close look into his eyes might have also revealed a carefully hidden mind, calculating as the maids were busy in the downstairs rooms, and the cooks hard at the production that would become the evening meal, and _il signore_ – for he was to call his new patron _il signore_ , which only befitted the man’s station – away from the mansion, conducting his business. No, no one was available to truly notice the lad, and the look of watching and waiting in his eye.

So it didn’t _have_ to be a surprise - but it was, the cool autumn day, early in _Carnevàl_ , that Raimondo quietly descended the stairs and slipped out of the servants’ entrance, disappearing onto the street.

Freedom after all these months was even sweeter than he thought it would be. Costumed revellers were out in full force, as though to greet his return. He removed the tight-fitting shoes to once again feel the rough cobblestones against his soles, and headed towards the square that he and Tonio and the rest of the boys frequented. Switching clothes would be simple enough; then he’d lay low for awhile, assess the situation, figure out what to do next until _il signore_ gave up and he could come out of hiding…

All in all it took them about three days to find him. A little filthier and a lot hungrier, but he still fought as he was taken away back to the grand house on the canal. This time, he wasn’t drugged, and was taken directly to _il signore_ ’s study, where the man regarded him with a brief tight-lipped look before speaking.

“Raimondo. I am greatly disappointed.”

The boy stared back, defiant.

“I know that the recent months have been a time of great change for you.”

No response.

“Raimondo - you are a boy of great promise. There are many things inside your head - unlike the heads of the other boys you used to run with - things that can make you into a great man. And unlike the vast majority of the people who call Venexia home, I can help you achieve that promise.

“Or do you prefer the streets? Would you like to spend the days of your short life homeless and stealing to survive, until _la Guardia_ arrests you and throws you into prison?”

The boy broke his silence. “But why do you imprison me here? Why am I not free to go where I would? Why did you take me in anyway?” he defiantly threw back.

“I do not imprison you; I do not let you roam freely because you would not return. I have taken you in for your own good. You will realise this in time, and will eventually thank me for it.

“A solid roof over you, fine food and clothing, and a chance for a future. I offer you all this. Or would you rather end up like your friend Tonio?”

Raimondo’s blood turned cold. _Is that what had happened? Would il signore kill him as well, if he didn’t cooperate?_

The boy stared wordlessly at the man seated before him. From his short time in the house he knew _il signore_ to be a man used to getting his way, and one who commanded - and received - the obedience and respect of those he came into contact with.

Raimondo had held no little sway with the pack of boys he had run with; but nothing approaching what the man before him could control, and nothing that would equate to locating a small boy in a large city in less than three days.

No, _il signore_ was clearly a much more powerful man than Raimondo had previously thought, one who would give the boy virtually no place to escape to. So remain he would, he must - and perhaps he would learn more of such power, and how he could gain some to protect himself. But he also would make a promise in the deepest part of his heart, to stay - to take what he could from this new world, and reap some benefit. At the very least in memory of Tonio.

And thus Raimondo came to be installed at Ca’ Cattivo.

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Once he’d adapted to it, life at the Cattivo household was pleasant, if a bit dull. It had its comforts: plentiful food, fine clothing, even his own room. Those sketches on paper scraps became formal lessons. He might never become a great painter, but he enjoyed capturing images with more than a muddy stick against a wall. His first full sketch was of Tonio, although he didn’t talk about his subject.

He still didn’t understand why Signore Cattivo had taken him from the streets; that was one question that the man refused to answer. And he dearly missed the freedom he’d had. But it was a pleasant enough existence, and much better than living homeless and by his wits. He just wished he had Tonio to share it with him.

Still, Raimondo often found the house oppressive. Over time, it became apparent that he wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but still he was never completely free to leave the mansion at will. His trips outside were with _il signore_ , or one of the servants; never by himself.

The lack of others his age was also isolating. And as he aged, and grew, and started to feel other yearnings, there was no one to talk to, to help him understand what was happening.

He was descending the staircase early one afternoon to sneak a morsel from the kitchen. Cook was by the large table, as usual; a couple of assistants bustled around other areas of the kitchen. Raimondo’s attention drifted to the boy standing by Cook, listening intently to some instruction.

He must’ve been new; Raimondo didn’t recognise him. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Perhaps the same age as Raimondo’s fifteen summers. Muscles played beneath a simple shirt as the boy shifted his stance, making it seem as though the garment itself had taken on life, rippling and bulging on its own.

Cook turned to bark at one of the girls, and the boy turned towards Raimondo. Their eyes met, and in those blue pools Raimondo felt a tightening in his belly, that same yearning that had been coming to him recently, though so much stronger than before. The other eyes stared at him openly for that one second, then shuttered. But Raimondo could tell that the other knew, knew how he felt, knew first-hand.

“Master Raimondo, was there something that you needed?” Cook noticed him across the room and focused on his wishes. Confused, Raimondo just muttered something and returned back up the stairs.

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Raimondo soon learned that the new boy was named Giancarlo. Over the next few weeks and months, he saw this Giancarlo on occasion, in different parts of the house: moving a heavy chest for the maids; bringing in foodstuffs for the kitchen; once even by the moorings in front of the mansion, helping to handle a damaged gondola. He always gave Raimondo a brief glance, that knowing look igniting something in Raimondo’s belly.

After several nights of tossing and turning, Raimondo felt he couldn’t take it anymore; something needed to be done, to be resolved. Something for himself, that wouldn’t be in service to _il signore_ and his suffocating household.

A few days later, over the course of a slow afternoon, Raimondo found the boy by the moorings, polishing the brass fittings on the gondolas.

“Master?” The boy sounded deferential, but that look was once again in his eye.

Raimondo stepped closer, until there was the briefest distance between them. Instinctively he knew that _il signore_ wouldn’t approve; but then, what did _il signore_ need to know? Raimondo reached out to just touch the other boy’s face, feel the smooth, luminous skin against his finger pads. The boy just stared back, amused, then reached out to touch Raimondo’s face as well, leaning in to -

“Giancarlo! You’re wanted upstairs.”

One of the maids appeared at the entryway, unexpected; the two boys moved apart quickly, but it was hard to tell what had been seen. Raimondo turned and hurried back into his world, in the upper reaches of the house.

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“Raimondo, I hear that your painting lessons are proceeding well. Keep up the good work.”

“Si, _signore_.”

“You are coming along quite well. Remember: stick to developing your promise and you’ll go far in life. And do not let any distractions get in your way. None at all. Understand?”

“Si, _signore_.”

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“…They found him, badly beaten, at the rectory door of San Nicolò dei Mendicoli, in the fishermen’s district. He may never walk ag- why, good morning, Master Raimondo! Pleasant day to you.” The two maids bobbed, then hurried away.

The next week, there was a black-haired boy bringing in provisions from the barge outside for Cook.

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“Raimondo. Mondo.”

“Si, _signore_?”

“Come, sit by me.”

“But, sir -”

“I know you're no longer a little boy, but humour an older man, si?”

Raimondo thought of his promise to Tonio, and moved to sit by his lord on the couch.

“You are growing up so quickly, into a fine young man. With your stature, your curly hair and vivid eyes, you'll make some woman a fine husband.”

“Si, _signore_.” An odd thing to say. Although nearly seventeen, Raimondo hadn't really thought much about girls or marriage – although Signore Risatina’s daughters _had_ been staring at him and giggling in a corner at the musical evening last week. Maybe it hadn't been them telling tales, after all.

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“Mondo, you truly make my days more bearable.” The older man lifted Raimondo's hand, which lay carelessly against the brocaded upholstery, and traced the lines in his palm. “What would I do without you to grace my halls?”

“No, _signore_ , it is I who should be thankful – you've done so much for me since taking me in. I could never repay it all -”

“Hush, Mondo. The pleasure has been all mine. You were an adorable, intelligent child – and now you have become a stunning, outstanding man. I could almost be jealous of your future wife.” Signore Cattivo turned Raimondo's palm upward and bestowed a tiny kiss on it. “Now please find Giulietta and ask her for refreshments in the drawing room.”

“Si, _signore_.” Raimondo left, uneasy about the exchange. But this was _il signore_ , his patron and lord, who owned the keys to his freedom. Dismissing it, Raimondo located the maid and relayed the instructions.

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Raimondo awoke from a deep sleep to find someone slipping under his covers. A hand clamped over his mouth before he could follow his instincts and lash out against the intruder.

“Hush, Mondo, it's only me. I will remove my hand, but you must promise not to make any noise and raise the household.”

Raimondo nodded his head, and the hand came off.

“What's wrong? What's happened, _signore_?” Raimondo’s whisper came out as a dry rasp.

“Oh, Mondo, forgive me... can you comfort an old man?” He wrapped his arms around the thin body, which hesitantly responded by passing an arm around his back. “I miss the comforts of the bed, and my departed wife. Sometimes I dream of her, and it breaks my heart. I am sorry to disturb you like this...”

“No, _signore_ ,” a bit hesitantly, “if this gives you comfort, please let me know what I can do.”

“I'm not sure what's happened, but the nightmares have come back worse this year.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes, the anniversary of her death is approaching. I don't like to discuss it, but this year weighs more heavily upon me than those passed, and it keeps me from sleeping.”

“Well, if this gives you comfort, please stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, Mondo. You are kind to an old man.”

 _Il signore_ fell asleep quickly, his arms still wrapped around Raimondo. Raimondo only fell asleep at dawn, after the other man had awoken and retreated to his own bedroom.

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Tired, fatigued by lack of sleep, Raimondo used the after-lunch lull to slip into his bedroom for a midday nap.

...only to awaken to _il signore_ caressing his cheek. He tried to surge up and push the hand away, but it was as though he swam through the waters of the canal outside his bedroom.

“Hush, little wildcat. Be still.” His patron’s voice bounced oddly around Raimondo’s head.

He was too tired, too confused, too unsure about what was going on anymore. “ _Signore_?” It was hard to make his mouth form words.

“Such an angel, Mondo, sleeping there. And then you open your eyes and I feel like I've been gifted with two rare jewels.”

“ _Signore_?” This no longer sounded like a bereaved man looking for solace.

“Don't be afraid, Mondo. Where there is love, there is no need to be afraid.”

“Love?”

“Yes. For I love you, and your presence in my life. You are a precious gift that's been given to me – please let me have the chance to worship you as you should be.” A kiss brushed his cheek.

“Worship, _signore_?” He could remember fragments of discussions among the street boys, whispers of what happened to the ones who disappeared, stories of favours traded for food and shelter. Things he’d wondered if the others had whispered about him after he’d come to Ca’ Cattivo. They had all sworn to avoid such situations.

He wanted to bolt up and run into the hall and out of the house and far away, but his limbs refused to respond.

“Yes, worship, Mondo. I want to put you on a pedestal and fall to my knees before you.” Kisses feathered his jaw line.

“Relax and let me show you. I will never ever hurt you.” And the lips came down upon Raimondo's. Gentle, yet insistent in opening his lips to the exploring tongue.

Through the doubt and confusion and shards of consciousness, Raimondo's first time definitely did hurt. It was far from a choice he would have freely made. But he was determined to live up to his pledge, and it was still better than being out on the streets.

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“Mondo.”

“Si, _signore_.”

“I have news for you, and I want you to hear me through before making any response.”

“Of course, _signore_.”

“You know I love you – not as a son, more than a wife. And that will never change. But – I am taking a new wife. Signore Lucci's daughter.”

Raimondo just stared back at the other man, anger building up inside. _I have lived up to my part of the bargain. You have made me your bed companion for two years, you tell me that you love me as a man loves a woman, and then you discard me?_

“I am a man of a certain social stature, and I have to keep up appearances. There will be talk, if for no other reason than I live unmarried and heirless with a young man in my household. This is not talk for someone of my position.

“But – I do have a proposal... I have thought through this carefully, for I want to make sure that I don't lose you.”

 _Where would I go? You are responsible for my entire welfare. I have nothing of my own: no money, no skills, no trade... Just the streets to return to. And you would not allow that to happen._

“As a woman of means, the new _signora_ will have certain... requirements. I am aging, and I'm not sure I can always keep up with such a young thing.” He chuckled to himself. “But you...”

“What?”

“Understand me, first. If you act as her _cavalier servente_ , her gallant, you can keep an eye on her, entertain her, and travel a bit about town with her – and no one will question your presence.”

 _No, because they will think I'm her lover, as well. My debt is to you, not her._

“But we will still have the nights for each other. You have the training and refinement – basically, the charm – to do this. And nothing else will change.”

“What about Signorina Lucci?”

“What about her? She will be my wife, she will do as I say.” Signore Cattivo seemed genuinely perplexed at the question. “This is just for appearances, and she shall provide me with a true heir. Did you think I want you to actually bed her?”

The signore rose from his couch and crossed the room, to stop before the younger man. “Come now, Mondo, don't be cross. This is for the best, and we will continue to live on as before.”  He placed a brief kiss on Mondo's lips. “Si?”

“Si, _signore_.” What was he to say? “Si.”

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The spring weather was glorious, and Raimondo enjoyed the boat ride with Signora Cattivo. She was slightly younger that he, but vivacious and full of stories about the places she'd been and things she'd seen. In a different world, their positions might well have been reversed; but he had an unpayable debt, and she was now the wife of a powerful man.

“So, Raimondo, do _you_ like parties and social events? Because on a certain level, I find them tedious.”

“They have their uses, although some nights a book before a fire sounds more appealing. However, I've always had a love of _Carnevàl_.”

“ _Carnevàl_?”

“Si. Maybe it was the magicians and jugglers, or the dancing bears in the square, that I would see when I was young. Such things would fascinate any child. Maybe it was the visual spectacle and the pleasant dreams I would have afterwards. But I have always enjoyed the season.”

“Yes, parts of _Carnevàl_ are almost tailor-made for children. And other just as enjoyable parts are for adults. Although _Carnevàl_ isn’t for months yet, we will soon have to start planning for it; after all, we have the status of a household to uphold.”

“What would you like me to do?’

“Well, you may not have to do _anything_ – or nothing more beyond escorting me,”  _la signora_ said with a twinkle in her eye. “An evening at the _teatro,_ at the opening of the latest opera, likely falls under the list of duties you are expected to perform.” She smiled a wide open smile.

“That makes perfect sense. So – when do we go?” He smiled right back.

“We'll see about it straightaway. And Raimondo -”

“Si?”

“You and I are children of circumstance, but we forge ahead, despite what comes our way. No reason not to be allies on that journey.” She lightly placed a small hand on his forearm. “I like you, and I think our arrangement could work out very well.”

He covered her hand with his in solidarity. “Si, I agree.”

<>====================================<>

Towards the rear of a merchant’s house, in a lesser part of town, a door quietly opened to admit a visitor.

Down a darkened hall and up a flight of stairs, the figure crossed a parquet floor into the heart of the mansion. It paused before a heavy wooden door, then entered without knocking to come to a halt before an older man seated behind a massive desk. The white-haired pate never stirred in the least acknowledgement of the figure before him.

“I knew you were in the building five minutes ago, Bodie; I saw you through the window. Come in and sit down. And close the door shut behind you; there’s a terrible draught in here.”

“Yes, Signore Mucca. Knew I couldn’t fool you.” The figure eased into an adjacent chair.

“Well, you’re still one of my best men, Bodie. Possibly _the_ best, which would go without saying, because saying it would run the risk of swelling your head.”

“Yes sir, no sir, thank you sir.”

“As it turns out, I have an assignment for you, which should go far in using some of your special skills.”

The figure showed interest – just a hint, but it was there.

“You know of the Cattivos, I assume? Signore Angelo Cattivo, and his young wife, formerly of the Lucci family?”

“Signore has a long history of service to _la_ _Serenìsima_ , and is currently on the Council of Ten, which makes him one of the most important men in Venexia and a key part of the functioning of the government.”

“The one and the same, lad. I’ve received information that there may be a snake in Venexia’s Garden of Eden, connected to _il signore_ , and we need you to ferret it out.

“It’s not clear what the man has been up to. He’s been part of the government for decades, including serving time as an ambassador abroad. His recent contacts have ranged far and wide, including those who may not have the best interests of _la_ _Serenìsima_ at heart.

“His wife might be one starting point. They’re newly married, and she’s young, much younger than he. She also had an extremely liberal upbringing as the only child of the Luccis, and the apple of her father’s eye. It was often said that he raised her like the son he never had. She may find marriage, and being answerable to a much older man, somewhat restrictive.

“There is a second member of _il signore’s_ household, a Raimondo Della Straniero. He came from an unknown background to join the household as a young boy, was brought up – not quite as a son, but more than a servant. Currently acts as _la signora_ ’s _cavalier servente_ , although we have reason to believe he does much more than act as her de facto lover. Much more. Possibly reaching as far as _il Doge_.”

“ _Il Doge_?” Bodie repeated. That’s reaching pretty far.”

“Yes, indeed, Bodie. And treat this with care. We don’t want Signore Cattivo to know he’s being investigated. These two might be the best starting place – contacts to approach, get a little closer to. Strictly professionally, of course. We don’t want a repeat of what happened with the Austrian envoy’s wife, now do we?”

“No, we do not, sir.” Although Bodie looked a bit disappointed.

“You can take whatever assistance you deem necessary. So, what are you waiting for, man?”

“Yes, sir!” The dark-haired man surged up, now fully alert. He turned to hide his smirk as he left the room.

Despite the diplomatic complications, that business with the Austrian envoy had turned out very productive. The problem of the envoy’s displeasure was, in the end, a minor annoyance. But he’d be sure to be more discreet this time around.

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It was fairly easy to move around the city, mingling with the crowds, unobserved. Bodie was a strikingly handsome man, it was true - tall, dark hair; piercing cornflower-blue eyes; all strong, clean lines – and he often used that to great advantage. But a little rough clothing, and a few streaks of dirt across the face, and he could become a porter, or labourer, or dockworker: just another face in a sea of faces. He often used that to great advantage, as well.

The upcoming _Carnevàl_ , of course, would make his work easier. No one would notice, for example, a flamboyantly costumed, thoroughly drunken masked reveller stumbling along the _fondamenta_. Just as right now they didn’t truly notice a plain-robed street vendor making his way through the crowds, calling out his wares and slowly trailing a very noble couple a few yards ahead of him. And what a couple: a stunningly beautiful dark-haired woman, adorned in just the right fashion and just the right jewellery, secure on the arm of a handsome auburn-curled man. The woman was beyond beautiful: precisely proportioned, with silky black hair arranged to perfectly complement her face and figure, it was more that she flattered her clothing than the clothing flattered her. Her companion radiated a similar effect, though in a different way. He was not truly conventionally handsome; at first glance a long-broken cheek disrupted the sculpted contours of his face.  But there was a certain air about him, about the sinuous way in which he moved, that drew in the eye and gave him an intangible beauty; to Bodie, he was actually the more attractive of the pair. Together, the couple turned heads in a city of head-turners. Bodie would have no problem inviting either – or both – to his bed.

So here were Signora Lucia Cattivo and Master Raimondo Della Straniero, his two best sources of information. He’d been following them for days now, familiarising himself with their ways and routines. These two were both of an age – significantly younger than their lord and master – and seemed truly fond of each other. A brief squeeze of the other’s arm, or a genuinely laughing regard came across as real affection. Maybe it was true that they were lovers. _What a shame_ crossed his mind, although he didn’t pursue the thought.

Their walks away from the Cattivo mansion were never very long, often no more than a turn around the closest square, and taken when _il signore_ was away. None of their actions indicated more than the structure of very wealthy lives. _La signora_ ’s beacon-like beauty and high social standing meant that she would always be noticeable, making her movements difficult to conceal from anyone who paid the scantest attention. Likewise, her companion might be a little less known, but would find it difficult to hide his activities well. Bodie had been unable to uncover anything, even a hint of cuckolding for Signore Cattivo to be concerned about – except for the man at her side, and he didn’t really count.

The pair ascended the stairs of the Church of San Zanipolo; moving slowly with the crowds, Bodie followed them inside. He settled into a pew towards the back, keeping them in direct line of sight, as the weekday Mass started. Every move, every devotion, every gesture was executed flawlessly – maybe because the couple seemed so _sincere_ about it. Bodie wasn’t sure how that was possible, how they could be so comfortable with themselves given what crimes against the state they were likely involved with. They seemed like innocent children, to look at them. And Bodie didn’t believe that they were at all.

But looking at them gave Bodie an idea. Yes, he knew what direction his next steps would take.

<>====================================<>

“ _Caro_ Mondo?”

“Aye, _bella mia_?” It was difficult to hear over the musicians and the large crowd.

“As it happens, we womenfolk are about to partake of subjects such as sewing, and housekeeping, and childcare – things that would, I am afraid, be more than you should be expected to bear.”

“How can you say that, _bella_? My pleasure is in being with you.”

“Ah, my dear, you can always turn a fine phrase. Still, please; we wish to speak about the female world, and possibly matters concerning your sex,” a quick wink, “and some of the younger women might feel a little shy in front of you.” There was a little tittering, perhaps from those younger women who might not have been as shy as suggested. “Go out, stretch your limbs, have some of Signora Solosoldi’s excellent refreshments. Perhaps later I can make it up to you with a dance.”

“Your wish is my command, _bella_. And I will return for that dance.” Raimondo took _la signora_ ’s hand and, with a deep bow, bestowed a kiss upon its back. He then smoothly straightened out and moved deeper into the crowded room.

Cutting through the revellers, Raimondo smiled to himself. The banter was their private signal that they’d played their act long enough and he was free to have his little bit of freedom. He was fortunate that they got along quite well. She had her role as the noble wife and he had his role as the escort, and neither had a true reason to complain, so what reason was there not to get along?

Ca’ Solosoldi, the mansion in which he currently found himself, was huge and slightly garish, perhaps reflecting the family’s purchase of its title a generation or two earlier. For all its expense, for all the gilt and murals and statuary, it fell short in comparison with Ca’ Cattivo. No matter: it was decked out for the gala, with dozens of nobles packing the ballroom and spilling into the halls, a small army of servants at hand to assist. Raimondo observed all, nodding at various masked revellers while concentrating on details he might later incorporate into a sketch.

He had made his way across the massive ballroom to stand before the refreshments table, loaded with delicacies. The Solosoldis were not ones to skimp on their offerings. There were cicchetti, or finger foods, of eggs and meats and vegetables; salamis and cured meats; small cakes, and _fritole_ , and glacéed fruit - all treats that would be forbidden at Lent. Foods and wines and liqueurs: the table near sagged with the weight of variety. He’d even heard that some of the cakes had been created by an apprentice from _il Doge_ ’s kitchens. Very impressive, indeed; the Cattivos would find it difficult to match this at their own gala.

Raimondo was about to move away from the table when a woman in a bold half-mask, all gold and silver and exotic feathers, stepped up to the table and, giving a gentle smile, greeted him. “Good evening, kind sir. Perhaps you can help me? All of the refreshments look tempting, it is hard to choose just one.”

He smiled back; he’d worn his own half-mask this evening, so visual cues weren’t difficult. He could tell the signs – she was young and likely new to the rounds of parties and such, and exploring all that was on offer, otherwise she would have been across the room with the other ladies –  but he was not here to accept any offers. Speaking, however, was quite acceptable and would not bring dishonour onto the household.

“Why, it is extremely difficult to choose, I agree. But for such a pretty lady, perhaps a small cake and a light libation?” He procured a plate of pastry and a glass of sweet wine from a servant, and walked her to a nearby chair.

“Ah, Alessandra!” A voice approached them from across the floor; he turned to see an older woman closing in on them. “You were to stay where I left you, I told you I would return quickly. There are too many people here to be easily found if you get lost!”

“I’m sorry, Mama; I was terribly hungry, I thought I might faint, and this kind gentleman was nice enough to obtain refreshments for me.”

Alessandra’s mother finally addressed the man who’d been hovering around her daughter. As the mother of a young girl entering marriageable age, she didn’t seem as perturbed as her words indicated. “Ah, _signore_ – I thank you deeply for aiding my Alessandra. This is her first _Carnevàl_ , and I am the mother hen, trying to make sure she navigates it with no incidents.”

“It was my pleasure, _signora_ ; and more than a pleasure to assist her.” Raimondo made to move away.

“Well, no need to rush away, good sir, just because I have arrived? You and Alessandra seem to be getting along quite nicely, and I can see that you are more than trustworthy enough to leave with my only daughter. Why not stay a while longer and continue to make her acquaintance?”

Raimondo looked more closely at the two: a woman, perhaps a little too eager to align her daughter with someone potentially powerful; and a girl, little more than a child, carefully schooled and eager to please a parent. Even if he weren’t a member of Signore Cattivo’s household, Raimondo would find it difficult to remain in their presence. And he found it difficult not to comment on the girl’s future prospects, although he was aware that there was little he could do about it.

“Signora - ?”

“Mezzano. I am known as Signora Mezzano.”

“Si, Signora Mezzano. You are quite kind in your praise, and it has been a delight to make the acquaintance of your lovely Alessandra.”

A smile of triumph began to illuminate the woman’s face.

“Perhaps I may introduce you both to my dear mistress, Signora Cattivo?”

The smile disappeared quickly. “I see.” She recovered admirably fast, though. “A gracious offer, sir, but we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble - and I do see Signore Casale, whom we have been remiss in speaking to all evening. Again, many thanks to you.” Signora Mezzano took her daughter by the arm and steered her away. It was understood that a _cavaliere servente_ to a young, powerful woman would pursue other options only at his own risk.

“So, is this your first _Carnevàl_ , as well? Or are you still uncovering the conventions?” 

Raimondo turned to face another masked figure. The deep voice came from a man just taller than he, dressed in the motley diamond patches of _Arlecchino_ , the jester. He wore a half-mask in an unusual cornflower blue; and, ribboning around the stranger, and drawing Raimondo in, was a scent: fresh, masculine, distinctive, like a primal forest. Raimondo had never smelled anything like it before. _Intriguing._

“No, I have been to quite a few; but taking advantage of a child – on the first night, no less, and in front of her mother, no matter how accepting – is perhaps not in the best taste.”

“Fair enough. But it is _Carnevàl_ , and it has just begun. And perhaps such flesh wasn’t to… _your_ taste. Perhaps you should cast your net a little wider?” The suggestion played just underneath the words.

The stranger’s head tilted slightly, to give Raimondo a better glimpse of the eyes beneath the mask. They, too, were cornflower blue, a perfect match with the mask and indicating a devastatingly handsome man beneath. _Ah, and modest, as well. But then, even a jester may be arrogant, I suppose._

“Perhaps you are correct; perhaps I should. And perhaps I will - later. But for now, as you point out, _Carnevàl_ has just begun, and I have yet to fill my eyes with all to be seen. It has been a pleasure, if you will excuse me.”

“Yes, of course.  And may we meet again.” The stranger lifted his glass to Raimondo, who tilted his head politely and departed.

There was still some time before he would have to return to _la signora_ , so Raimondo wandered outside to the gardens, where a sizable knot of people had gathered. He had moved deeper into the crowd when a voice in the front yelled, “Now! Let’s go!” and the throng surged forward. Raimondo tried to work his way out of the mass of bodies, but was caught in the crush and borne along. Laughing, he surrendered and decided to see where it would take him.

The band of revellers pushed out of the ornate gates and into the narrow street, laughing and singing a bawdy tune as they linked arms and surged forward. Raimondo took up the fevered, raucous ribaldry around him, the feet flying over the cobblestones, tripping over bridges as the moon smiled down upon them. Freedom: the kind of freedom he hadn’t felt in years, and which was wrapping itself around him like a well-loved cloak.

The group paused at the junction of two alleyways, another group arriving at the same time. They ended up merging together. Raimondo’s arms slipped out of his partners’ in the confusion and faces laughed with him; then the song started up again and he reached out to a new neighbour, hooking his arm into hers. The mass surged forward again, the thread restarted, and it wasn’t until a few more twists and turns had passed that Raimondo realised that the costumes were different, not as finely made; he’d taken up with the wrong group at the intersection. Grinning, he hooked his partners’ arms together and let them proceed without him; however, as they receded into the distance, it became a problem as nothing looked familiar. He was no longer quite sure exactly where he was.

 _Now what?_ He scanned the buildings, but wasn’t sure where to start, so headed back in the direction he’d come from.

But the streets looked unfamiliar, and he was just getting himself more lost. He’d asked a few passersby for directions to Ca’ Solosoldi, but none actually knew. In addition, the district was becoming rougher and rougher; his finery had already attracted a few unwanted stares. He kept himself calm as he determined what to do; it was just a matter of finding his way out of the warren of alleys and back to the mansion…

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to a wall. Raimondo raised his free arm to strike, but a hand grabbed his wrist to prevent that. “Raimondo, I am a friend, here to help.”

It was the man from earlier, the striking yet arrogant man from the refreshments table. Raimondo took him in at greater length. The mask and the eyes behind it were trained on him with not a little heat; they still caught the attention, but now there was more, much more. The posture and bearing spoke of a certain strength and resoluteness - and danger, a danger that would have triggered child Raimondo’s sense of self-preservation but which he hadn’t encountered since entering Ca’ Cattivo. And again, there was that scent, surrounding him, worming its way into his senses.

But hearing his name set him on edge; he was just able to keep the agitation from his voice. “And who are you? How do you know my name?”

“Raimondo Della Straniero? Why, everyone knows the man who accompanies the elegant Signora Cattivo to all the best entertainments. After all, the Cattivos are at the pinnacle of Veneçiàn society.” Something new: a hint of a sneer crept into the man’s tone. “Fortunately, I have found you here; this is not the district for one such as you to be lost in. There’s no need for you to be alarmed; I merely want to help you return to where you should be.” The stranger released him, and Raimondo slightly relaxed. The man knew his name, and right now he was lost. Raimondo could remain alert but allow him to show the way back to Ca’ Solosoldi.

“Let us start walking at least.” The stranger started down the cobblestones.

Raimondo stayed where he was, arms crossed, one hip jutting out in defiance. There was one thing that could be garnered now. “So, you know my name. What of yours?”

“My name? What would you like my name to be?” Now it seemed as though the man were laughing at him.

“Come now, that is hardly an unreasonable question. You come from nowhere, you grab me on the street, you know who I am, I’m now forced to accompany you. I think I have a right to know the name of my unexpected companion.”

“Ah, yes, fair Raimondo, and I would fulfill your request, except I fear that Signore Cattivo… and his lovely wife, of course, perhaps would not be pleased to know it. And I wish to keep my skin a bit longer.”

Raimondo froze a bit inside. _He could not possibly know, no one knows… who is he?_ “I must insist that you respond. I am indebted to you, yes, and will have to beg your indulgence until we have returned to more familiar surroundings; but I have surrendered neither my pride nor privacy nor safety to you. So I suggest that you answer my question before we proceed.”

“Raimondo – it is truly not safe to stop here; let us continue on.” The stranger made to take Raimondo’s arm again, but the other man shrugged him off. “Fine; I will grant your request and tell you my name. But let us continue.”

Raimondo briefly hesitated, as though debating with himself, then moved, allowing the other man to lead the way. It was a concession, but not costless. “And, so, your name…”

“Yes, yes. You may call me - Guglielmo.”

“Guglielmo. That cannot possibly be your entire name.” There was an edge to the voice; Raimondo’s anger was ready to crest.

“No, it is not. But it is my birth name. Although few call me that now, I would be pleased if you used it. And I hope you use it judiciously when you are asked about your adventure this evening, as my head likes its position on my shoulders.”

 _That allusion again._ “What do you mean by that? I’m sure that both Signore and Signora Cattivo will be more than pleased that you aided a valued member of their household. Why would you think that there would be a punishment involved?”

“I have always found the Signore rather protective of his property.”

“He is my patron but I am a free man. I am hardly property.”

“As you wish, Raimondo…. And here we are. I regret the circumstances, but I have savoured the opportunity to make your acquaintance and guide you back home.”

They had arrived at the gate to Ca’ Cattivo, the odd discussion having distracted Raimondo so that the large building seemed to come suddenly upon them. The house was dark – _il signore_ was away on business, and of course _la signora_ was at the party – but he was sure he could rouse the servants.

“Thank you, Guglielmo. You may have your odd notions, but I more than appreciate your assistance…” Raimondo was left speechless as the other figure took his hand and turned it palm side up to bestow a lingering kiss. There was a quick glimpse of sparkling blue eyes and a devilish smile before the figure turned to gesture towards the steps.

“And now, please enter; I’m sure that the alarm over your disappearance will soon be raised at Ca’ Solosoldi.”

The exchange filled Raimondo with anger: at the stranger’s arrogance and presumptuousness, to be sure, but also at the sense of electricity he felt at the man’s touch. “We are more than civilized here; an appropriate reward is yours for the asking. Just follow me and I will rouse the servants.” He ran up the stairs, partially to avoid the gaze bearing down on him. He well remembered what had happened to the last person to gaze at him like that. Arrogance or no, he would wish that upon no one.

The servants were easily roused and quickly came to the door; but when Raimondo turned back to the other man, the street below was empty.

<>====================================<>

Notes vibrated along taut strings, then faded to silence to bring the first movement to an end. A few throats cleared, a few chairs shifted, and then the musicians picked up the beginning notes of the next section.

It had become _de rigueur_ in recent years for leading composers to adopt an orphanage and train and groom the girls to perform for their betters, especially during _Carnevàl_. No matter the motivations, Raimondo rather enjoyed these musical evenings. They lacked a visual poetry of their own, certainly nothing beyond the various costumes and masks in the audience; but, much like his all-too-infrequent periods of painting, he appreciated the chance to pause and reflect, to look at the beauty life could provide in all its forms. And as someone from similar circumstances, he could only support a tradition that aided young orphans in learning an art and learning it beautifully. Armed with that art, they were provided with both a living and a measure of protection from a nasty, brutish existence on the streets, forced to sell themselves and slake some man’s carnal thirsts to survive. _Or, for that matter, in a mansion, slaking some man’s carnal thirsts to survive…_ No. Instead, here he was, next to _la signora_ , enjoying an evening of beautiful music made by beautiful girls, just glimpsed at behind their protective screens.

Signora Cattivo glanced over at him, giving a quick smile both proper for the occasion and for warming him inside. He turned back to the music, attentive.

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After seeing _la signora_ to the reception room and settling her with refreshments, Raimondo excused himself and went in search of the close stool. He opened what seemed to be an appropriate door and slipped through a heavy fabric curtain into a small room.

But instead of the basin and chamber pot he expected, there was a couple tucked into a corner. Both beautiful and beautifully attired, they were draped over each other, glasses of some libation in their hands, dangerously close to tipping over and spilling their contents.

The woman said something that her companion must have found funny, and they both laughed heartily; then he bent to capture her lips. Raimondo didn’t doubt that both were more than a little inebriated, and that on the morrow they would regret the display; a  great part of social success was the art of discretion, after all. And to his knowledge, the man was in no way publicly recognised as the woman’s _cavalier servente_.

But there was a certain way that they held themselves and expressed their pleasure, the ease across the two faces showing a sense of elegance and grace, a certain measure of life and way of being. Their features, freed from the constrictions of society, reflected the richness and joy of living.

“Life can hold much pleasure, can it not?”

Raimondo whirled at the voice purring in his ear. It was Guglielmo and his blue mask again, his intense eyes and air of danger much closer than was safe. Caution was called for here.

“Ah, if it isn’t Guglielmo One-Name, who orders his clothing to match his moods. Life may hold pleasure, indeed; and we are all capable of momentary lapses. Even you. And this is _Carnevàl_ , after all.”

“And what sort of momentary lapse would _you_ make, Raimondo Della Straniero?” The man moved closer, if that were possible.

Something odd was pulling inside him, beyond his natural anger; Raimondo had to gain control and quickly. “Momentary lapse?”

“The beauty of the act of love. Something crosses the face at the moment of ecstasy.” His breath played across Raimondo’s cheek.

“You were a great aid to me during the Solosoldi’s gala, but I don’t believe that my debt to you is unbounded.” Intrigued or not, he would not lose control of the situation.

“What is there to believe? Love is meant to be shared, by strangers and lovers alike. Debts are mere distractions.”

“Distractions?” Raimondo snorted. “My guess is that you are trying your best to become a distraction in my life.” Truthfully, there were worse fates that Raimondo could imagine; but he wouldn’t let this Guglielmo know that.

“Distraction?” Guglielmo echoed. “I would hope for a chance to be more than just a distraction.”

“You do have a way about yourself, although you also seem to ignore that I have duties and obligations.”

“Far be it from me to take you away from your duties and obligations, fair Raimondo.” Guglielmo hovered over Raimondo’s mouth; they almost exchanged the same breath. “At least for now. So I will end our delightful conversation; but I have greatly enjoyed the exchange and hope to have the pleasure again soon. Until then, let me leave you with your own momentary lapse.”

A puff of air blew across Raimondo’s lips, and he closed his eyes - thinking of beauty, of freedom, of the chance to challenge this Guglielmo as an equal and not worry about society or appearances or the Cattivos. To take hold of this roiling feeling inside and follow it where it might lead him, to be as free in his actions as the couple he’d witnessed had been. There was so much he’d never know and had missed, things he’d never explored…

The pressure around him lifted, the air grew cooler, and he opened his eyes. Guglielmo had stepped back and it felt as though winter had come, shutting out a brief summer between them. The other figure bowed deeply to him then left Raimondo with a broad smirk as he turned away and departed from the room.

<>====================================<>

All in all, the situation could be worse, although it wasn’t clear how.

Bodie sprawled across the bedding, staring up at the ceiling of his room at the inn, going over the particulars of the case that he’d have to report to his lord on the morrow. Yes, he’d made contact with one of the targets. No, he hadn’t yet gained much useful information. Yes, he understood the importance of the case and concluding it in a timely manner, that the fate of _la_ _Serenìsima_ might rest upon it. No, he wasn’t stringing things along in an attempt to bed either of the targets.

At least he didn’t think he was.

Although it wouldn’t be unpleasant at all to bed them, Raimondo Della Straniero in particular. The man was nothing like what Bodie had been expecting. He’d already been aware of the physical aspects. Bodie had always admired a well-proportioned body, and the curly hair and keen eyes had much to recommend. But the attitude behind the quick tongue was unexpected, if annoying. The man might move among the heights of society, but he clearly had a temper skimming just beneath the surface. Bodie had never run into that before, and the challenge it presented automatically prompted him to respond. This Raimondo Della Straniero possibly could be a very worthy opponent.

 _If only he weren’t a traitor._

Even so, there was still fun to be had. The retainer was clearly the easier of the two to approach, and Bodie was willing to bet that with the wildness of spirit behind those sharp eyes Della Straniero would make for a more enjoyable bedmate than he’d had in quite a while.

Bodie concentrated on a particular crack in the ceiling, imagining just how the man would be in bed. He would start with the lips – those full cupid’s-bow lips. He’d lean down and claim them: covering them with his own, savouring them until they opened for a breath. And then he’d slip in to the mouth to steal that breath, mapping the contours of the warm recess until he knew it better than his own. Once the man was close to passing out (since Bodie was a master, after all), he’d move away to nibble along the jaw line, down to the neck, enjoying the gasps as he entertained himself. Bodie reached down his own body, taking himself in hand and slowly starting to pull as he fully immersed himself in the fantasy. Nibbling around the brown nipples would evoke little jolts of pleasure in someone so sensual – adding a hand below would start the body jerking in time to the tune he’d play on it. The man would feel a burn of goodness, similar to the one that Bodie began to feel course through his own body: a warm coil of pleasure pulsing through his abdomen, growing in urgency. Bodie accelerated a bit, dragging an imaginary tongue down the flat abdomen, tracing around the belly button (and eliciting a sigh), to curl around the area he was most interested in. His captive’s member would be high and proud by this time, and the man would move to grab it in frustration; but Bodie would push the hands back, finally wresting control of the wrists and holding them down in place on either side of the curls. This Raimondo would beg for Bodie, beg prettily and long; in response, to keep his target in place and subdued, Bodie would stretch himself over the other frame and slip between the legs. And just then, he’d give a slight rock, to remind the man who was in control. A pleading moan, and he would rock again into the prone body. But Bodie could feel himself start to take off, signalling that time was growing short; as his real hand accelerated his own rhythm, he’d start a similar rhythm against the imagined body beneath him, letting the rub and slide against the accumulated sweat on both their bodies ease the friction. They’d settle into a rhythm and he’d dip down to retake the lips, swallowing all the noises coming from the delicious body, feeling them vibrate into his own. Thrust-slip-thrust-slip-thrust-slip, jerk-twist-jerk-twist-jerk: fantasy and reality merged as Bodie’s control fractured – there, there, just THERE – and he and the glorious body were coming together with a long moan, he was coming into his hand with a loud “ahhhh”; all the universe was coming simultaneously in a glorious blaze, as though for the very first time.

And when Bodie came to his senses, and could once again focus on the crack in the ceiling above, and the drying traces of his pleasure across his belly, and the sense of unfulfilled want underlying his exhausted completeness, he knew that operation or not, traitor or not, he would have Raimondo Della Straniero before this was over.

<>====================================<>

The main entrance to the Teatro dell Buffo loomed overhead, seemingly a grand palace from a grand tale. The costumed figures milling about in front, illuminated by countless torches, gave the whole scene an air of a fanciful fable come to life. Excitement and anticipation sparked the November night for one of the highlights of the _Carnevàl_ season.

 Raimondo and Signora Cattivo alighted from the household boat, resplendent in full dress and ornate half masks. They were immediately caught up in the swirling crowds making their way up the stairs into the building. Outwardly, he maintained his calm; but inside, Raimondo was a small boy again. He had looked forward to this performance for months. Perhaps it was the general excitement of the crowds, about to see a popular Goldoni play. Perhaps it was that this was the first time in a very long time that Raimondo was doing something that he'd wanted to do, with someone who had arranged it specifically because of him. The event was rare, just as rare as the feeling inside of him.

 _The Marriage by Competition_. A comedy of intrigue, but even the mere title launched the imagination. The play and the evening would provide hours of discussion and reminiscences for him and _la signora_ , even taking into consideration the remaining _Carnevàl_ events that were scheduled. He wondered if, in his heart of hearts, he might not even prefer this evening to the Cattivo's upcoming ball, although he'd never admit to that.

The crowds, perhaps suspecting that the performance was drawing near, seemed to grow a touch restless. He took the _signora_ 's hand, and they proceeded into the hall.

Inside, they swept past the marble columns. The sounds, the costumes and masks; Raimondo made every effort to see it all, note it, capture it in his memory, so he could replay it over and over in his head, even while maintaining the decorum that his social position required: a slight tilt of the head, a slow shift of his torso. Next to him he could see a slight smirk at the corner of _la signora_ 's perfect mouth, signaling that she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Be careful, Raimondo, else you'll trip and cause a scandal amongst society,” she teased, her lips barely moving.

“Not to worry, _cara bella_ , I would never do anything to besmirch your reputation,” he muttered back, just as playfully. “In fact, I have eyes in the back of my head -”

He stopped, suddenly surprised. That scent, that essence that he'd caught the night at Ca’ Solosoldi. There it was again.

“These eyes in the back of your head, are they catching something now?” Signora Cattivo asked, continuing their banter.

“This time, the nose starts the dance, and the eyes follow,” he answered, turning his head slightly to scan their surroundings. There, to the side – could it be the Plague Doctor's mask, with the long, hooked nose? Or the Harlequin? Il Capitano stood conversing with Pulcinella. Any one of them could be Guglielmo – or maybe it was one of the guards standing to the sides of the hall. It was impossible to tell, although he was sure the scent was _him_.

“Perhaps following the senses isn't preferable at the moment; it would be noticed.” There was a note of caution in Signora Cattivo's tone.

“No, that is not the intention at all; the senses seem to remember, rather than spy.” But the scent appeared to taper off; there wasn't much to distract him any longer. He was disappointed all the same.

They swept into the corridor, and took their seats in a side box. Raimondo steered the woman on his arm to her chair; then, once she was settled, sat down and adjusted to his seat. He hazarded a long look at the audience: a sea of masks, a multitude of colours, the cream of society.  Was it really possible that Guglielmo was present somewhere? How would he even be able to tell? He had little to go by beyond a rough height and weight, as the man’s costume had obscured details beyond what the mask had concealed. But part of him yearned to talk to the other man, engage him more. Just to find out what he knew about the Cattivo household, of course. Nothing more. He had seemed to know more than might be safe, after all.

The orchestra started to play, and Raimondo turned his attention to the stage. The audience quieted down, and the action began.

On one level Raimondo was enjoying the performance – it was everything he'd hoped for, and more. The audience was taken up with the opera as well, laughing, gasping, gleefully following the characters on stage, as Pandolfo the merchant advertised for a husband for his daughter rather than have her marry their innkeeper. It was easy to become absorbed by the entertainment’s effects. But a small part of him was still sorting through the surprise of the seductive scent. He couldn't imagine many men of Venexia carrying that scent – in fact, he couldn't imagine _any_ other. But still, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility....

Just then, laughter rang out amongst the audience; _la signora_ turned to him, although the smile dropped from her face when she saw the look on his. “Are you well, Raimondo? You seem a little preoccupied tonight. I thought you'd told me that Goldoni was one of your favorites.”

“Si, he is, and I'm more than grateful to be here; I'm just a little unsettled. Perhaps it's a bit of indigestion.”

“Would you like to leave, then? Perhaps you'll feel better at home.”

“No, no; it’s not serious, there’s no need to miss the performance. I'll step outside a minute, take in a bit of fresh air, and be back before the end of the act.”

“Are you sure?”

“Si, Signora. All is well.”

Raimondo made his way out of the box into the corridor beyond. Quietly but quickly, in an effort to answer some questions and get back to the performance, he traversed the curve of the corridor into the main lobby, retracing his steps, crossing the marble floor in search for any hints of that mysterious scent. But nothing appeared, beyond the quiet hall and a certain amount of disappointment.

He slipped into a side portico and out onto a balcony, looking over the nighttime streets. He couldn't help being a little displeased that the other man had disrupted his enjoyment of the evening without even being present. Feeling restless, Raimondo removed his mask to allow a little of the fresh evening air to blow across his face. It was a bit of a risk – social dictates were strict about revealing oneself in public – but he needed a couple of minutes to calm himself, after being almost haunted by that scent...

...which seemed to have followed him out here. He turned to the door – and almost crashed into another figure slightly taller than himself. And definitely the source of the scent. Raimondo immediately moved to replace the mask that should have been on his face, but the other man's hand gripped his wrist before the mask could get there.

“And once again we meet, Guglielmo One-Name.”

“And so we do, Raimondo.”

“Do you make a career of flouting convention and following me about? Speaking of which, once again the situation is far from proper; I need to retie my mask before we are discovered.”

“Not proper, perhaps; but I am enjoying the chance to see you as you are, _caro mio_ , with nothing hiding your features.”

“While you remain securely covered. What are you doing here? And what do you want?”

“I am here with the social elite of Venexia, enjoying a fine work by a well-loved playwright. And very fine it is, too.” A tongue flicked across the lips, followed by a smirk. “What would you have me want?”

“I would have you let me go and move out of my way.”

“Not quite yet, fair Raimondo.”

“What do you mean, 'Not quite yet'? What gives you the right to handle me in this way?” Raimondo twisted in an effort to shake the man’s grip, but the long-unused move only resulted in Guglielmo trapping him against the wall, his body flush against Raimondo’s.

“I'm not truly 'handling' you in any way, I'm just... observing. ...Strange, that.”

“Strange what? That you manhandle citizens?”

“No, that you're not as resistant as I would have expected. Familiar with a man’s touch, I would expect. Accepting, I would not.”

“What are you talking about?” Raimondo was faintly panting in the tumult racing through his head.

“I wonder how far that acceptance would go, Raimondo.”

“How far - ?”

“Yes, it's risky and ill-advised, but I think we can find out.” The other man pressed him even more into the wall and, slightly bending, descended for a kiss.

Raimondo, confused at the whole conversation, hadn't been expecting that. Unlike the kisses _il signore_ granted, however, this was very different: soft, tender, but demanding; opening something within him. Part of him responded, wanted to open up more, to the tongue beginning to demand entrance, to something that felt so different, despite the mask pushing across his cheek.

He felt as though something that had been missing from Signore Cattivo's fervent yet sterile lovemaking - in fact, from his fervent but sterile household - had been brought to him through this one kiss. Raimondo raised his arms to capture the dark strands in his hands, and eke as much out of this sensation as he could. The Cattivos, and the Teatro, and the evening all peeled away, until it was just him and the man wrapped around him, with his unique scent, enveloping his every sense…

Guglielmo’s hands were all over him, on and under his garments, frantic and not giving him a chance to reflect on what was going on. He saw heat, then cold; felt orange, and a cornflower blue; and he thought he tasted the song of a bird on the wing. Where had this been all the times he had serviced Signore Cattivo?…

And then Guglielmo’s mouth sealed over his, and his hand slipped around his member and stroked. The coiling feeling was back in full force, building as it had never done before, and Raimondo felt he couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to contain it. Meanwhile the hand and the lips continued, and he felt a loosening of bonds and the surging of a freedom he hadn’t felt since his days on the streets - and then it was over quickly, as though he were a young boy again. As he came back to consciousness, Guglielmo was wiping him down with a handkerchief, reassembling his clothing, and the building seemed much too solid and unmoving for what had just happened.

But here he was on an open balcony at the Teatro. Anyone might find them at any time to report back to Signore Cattivo just how Raimondo had disgraced the household – and with a stranger, yet. He regained his wits enough to push the other man away.

“Yes, interesting,” Guglielmo whispered, breathless. “Much more accepting than I'd have either expected or hoped.” He seemed just as disoriented as Raimondo felt.

“Are you _trying_ to offend me, Guglielmo One-Name?” Raimondo couldn’t evince much conviction to his comment. ~~~~

“Not at all, _caro_ Raimondo.” The other man plucked the mask from where it had fallen at Raimondo's feet and replaced it on his face, tying the ribbons behind the mass of curls. “I merely seek to know who you really are beneath your mask - and what your momentary lapse might be.”

“Ah, we are back to that. And did you find out what you wished to know?” The words were now tumbling unchecked from his mouth.

“Yes.” A shadow crossed the face, but quickly changed; the sneer was back. “You are Signore Cattivo’s trusted servant, and would do anything he asked. I’m sure if he requested you steal, or lie, or kill, or betray everything you believed in, even if it meant to attack _il Doge_ , you would do it. Because you could bewitch anyone with that look in your eyes.”

Was this man made of stone? Hadn’t he felt that – whatever _that_ had been? “What do you mean by that? Why would my patron ask me to do any of that? Why would I want to do any of that?”

“Because he can, and because he wants something more. But I don’t need to tell you this; you must know it already. What is it that you and your master are planning, Raimondo Della Straniero? What secrets do you and your household hide, and what harm would you do to _la Serenìsima_?”

“I am no traitor, Guglielmo, and I still do not know who you are or what you want. You give me half a name for yourself, you threaten my position in my household, and then you insult me. Yet I know nothing of who you are or why you approach me.

“And now, we've been here for an extended period, and about to reach the bounds of propriety; _la signora_ as well as several others will start to take note of my lengthy absence.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I wish you a fine evening and an enjoyable performance. But I don’t desire or expect to see you again. Now if you will excuse me.” Raimondo slipped from the man’s grasp, and reentered the theatre. ****

 _What had that been in service of?_ Raimondo felt a number of things – anger, shock, but most of all, surprise. Surprise that he hadn't yelled for the guards; that he didn't feel guilt at what had just happened; that under the right circumstances he might have freely welcomed it, social dictates be damned. Surprise that he wasn't more worried about who might've seen them and how disappointed _il signore_ would be if he ever found out. But Raimondo hadn't asked for this, he'd just come out, admittedly wishing to see the stranger again, and... well, he had. And then the man had turned on him.

Well, it wouldn’t be a problem anymore; he would never see the man again.

Raimondo lightly sucked his breath in, annoyed. Maybe he _had_ been too accepting.

<>====================================<>

The sun was just up, and the shouts of the gondoliers maneuvering into their stations burst their way through the open window and into Bodie’s brain, waking him. He arose, performed his ablutions at the basin of hot water a servant had delivered to his room, then dressed and descended for the morning meal. But all he could think of was Raimondo Della Straniero, unmasked: the sheen of his sweat, the glistening of his eyes, the taste of his golden skin.  The look across his face as his pleasure peaked, the sounds from his lips as his body sang its joy.

And yet the man was so obstinate. At every turn, he questioned, he countered, he dug in his heels, he worried at each comment like a starving dog with a bone. Yes, Bodie’s instincts had been correct; the man was a more than worthy opponent. Bodie had had partners far and wide, but couldn’t think of any to truly match this one man.

Which of course made his job that much more difficult. Bodie wasn’t sure yet how far Signore Cattivo’s plans extended, but he was sure the man’s ward was somehow involved. Bodie felt a deep need to know what was going on beneath those curls.

Bodie also thought of how the operation had been progressing: not well at all. He’d got quite far with establishing contact with Della Straniero - Bodie smirked at the word - but there was virtually no information forthcoming. His attempts to gather information repeatedly fell victim to the pure attraction of the man, which then jeopardized the operation. Had he, Bodie, the ultimate detached professional, truly been distracted by a pair of blue-green eyes? He didn’t even _know_ this man. True, he knew _of_ him, of his movements and his surroundings; but he didn’t know what drove the man ( _beyond Bodie’s touch_ ), what his motivations were ( _beyond Bodie’s gaze_ ). For all he knew, Raimondo Della Straniero was working hand in hand with his master to bring down all that Bodie’s lord held dear. Which, of course, would affect Bodie.

Best to hold him at arm’s length. Not too far away, of course; Bodie was more than willing to take advantage of the passionate nature lurking beneath the man’s surface. But nothing more; not if he wanted to maintain the ability to perform his job and his duty to Signore Mucca.

Yes, he’d handled it well after that incident at the Teatro: keep the man at a distance, make it clear that this meant nothing to Bodie. Don’t make or imply any attachments. And this operation would soon end, and Raimondo Della Straniero would become just a memory. And most likely would be awaiting execution for treason.

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“Raimondo! Great news!”

“Si, _signore_?” Raimondo was still very, very angry, having sat himself before his easel for the better part of a week, trying to sketch his anger away. But the usual solace that sketching brought seemed to evade him this time; in fact, the figure on the paper before him strongly resembled the source of his anger. He sat frowning at the lines on the paper before him, barely paying attention to his patron.

“You are about to advance in the world. Remember the great news I mentioned earlier? That great events were in the works? Well, it has come to pass. You are about to meet His Serenity, _il Doge_.”

“ _Il Doge_?” That managed to penetrate Raimondo’s brain; he put down his pencils to look at his patron. “Why would he want to meet me?”

“He saw one of your studies – remember the one of the young red-haired boy? – and would like to meet the creator of such a charming picture.”

 _The red-haired boy_. One of his memories of Tonio, one of the pieces he’d put the most effort into as a memorial to his friend. He’d done it quite some time ago, when he was still new to the household, and thought it long-hidden in some storage room. And now Tonio had brought him to the attention of the Doge. “I… see.”

“This is wonderful news for the household, Raimondo. It will bring great honour to my name. It will bring us even more influence and power, not to mention contacts with other republics. And you might even become the confidant of _il Doge_ … You have come far from the streets, my boy. You have made me indescribably proud of you.”

 _Confidant of il Doge._ What was it that Guglielmo had been trying to tell him? ‘What are you and your master plotting against your leader and _la Serenìsima_?’ But it couldn’t be – _il signore_ was one of the most respected men in Venexia. No, Guglielmo was a troublemaker, likely working for another lord looking to gain political power over Signore Cattivo. This was just as it appeared; a chance meeting with _il Doge_ , an honour but likely to go no further than that.

“…you listening to me, Raimondo? We have to bring the tailor in, have you fitted for a proper outfit. _Everything_ must be perfect, nothing left to chance.”

“But _signore_ , it will just be a short meeting, no? The Doge has many renowned artists already at his command; I scarcely have one hundredth the talent they do –”

“Are you questioning me, Raimondo? Don’t be silly. This is an opportunity. And you are going to take it.”

Raimondo was a bit taken aback by the tone in his patron’s voice; he’d never heard a note of steel like that before. “Yes, of course, _signore_.”

“Now, we’ll have the tailor in this afternoon for first measurements. And clean the charcoal from your hands! You must look your best, and not like some workman off the streets.”

 _Where I came from?_

“Raimondo, the household is relying on you. _I’m_ relying on you. Nothing must go wrong, and it won’t – now, will it?”

“Of course not, _signore_. I will uphold the honour of the house.”

“Good boy.” His master came over and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “I will return to check on the progress of the preparations later. This may be a surprise, but you truly don’t know how blessed you are, boy.” He turned and left the room.

Raimondo watched the man leave, thoroughly confused. _Il signore_ was the head of the household, true, and his word was law; but Raimondo had never seen this side of him before: adamant, insistent, and focusing on something of such minor overall consequence. As a member of the Council of Ten, he already had access to _il Doge_ ; how would some minor sketch really affect that?

Something had changed, and Raimondo couldn’t keep the thoughts of Guglielmo’s charges from coming to mind. He needed to find out what was transpiring with his master.

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There had been many risky things that Raimondo had done over his life; this, he felt, was likely the most dangerous.

The house was dark, and all should have been still. However, he’d hidden in a hall cabinet, keeping watch, waiting for something to happen.

He’d begun to become hopeful that it was a false alarm, that he would laugh at himself on the morrow for losing a night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, when he heard a rustling coming from down the hall. The click of heels became more distinct, then passed by the cabinet and continued to the staircase. Grabbing his own pair of shoes and holding a cape close about him, Raimondo slipped from the cabinet and set off in pursuit of the echoing footsteps.

It had been years since he’d used such skills, but Raimondo found it relatively easy to follow the figure. He stayed in the shadows, keeping to doorways and recesses, but the figure was more interested in speed than concealment. Raimondo froze for a second when the other turned momentarily to look about; but he soon returned to his travels, Raimondo remained unseen, and the pursuit began again.

The difficulty arose when his target came to the _fondamenta_ and approached a waiting gondola. Another man with a shuttered lantern greeted the first. Raimondo was at some distance, but in the late night quiet he could tell that the language they spoke was not Veneçiàn. He could also tell, in the weak light from the lantern, that the man he’d followed was his patron.

With no boat, and no way of acquiring one without alerting his target, Raimondo figured the best course lay in returning to Ca’ Cattivo. After ensuring that the gondola was well into its journey, he turned around and retraced his steps along the cobblestones.

<>====================================<>

The end of December, and Christmas came upon the household.

Christmas was always a solemn occasion and even more so for _il Doge_ ’s closest advisors. As a member of the Council of Ten, Signore Cattivo attended Vespers, Matins, and the early-evening Christmas Mass celebrations in la Basilica di San Marco, the chapel of the Doge. Signora Cattivo, Raimondo, and a few retainers attended the devotions in the first row behind those set aside for _il Doge_ and his advisors. After the ceremony ended, late in the evening, the household would then depart for their own church, San Zanipolo, where they would attend the midnight Mass.

There were masks to be seen, but the Christmas devotions were perhaps the only activity that could call a halt to the costumes and frivolity of the normal _Carnevàl_ celebrations. Raimondo was thankful for the pause; the colours and shapes and sizes of the celebrations were marred by the politics around and surveillance of others’ preparations, the plotting and scheming to ensure a success - and to keep that secret from being leaked. Perhaps it annoyed him more this year because he also was aware of the other intrigue the household was involved in. So tasting the Turkish punch at the English envoy’s recent party had made him think of whispered words on a dockside; and _il signore_ ’s hearty greeting of Signore Mietitore, dressed as the Grim Reaper at another event, forced Raimondo to focus on the lantern in the man’s hand.

He’d searched for other information when he could; but in a household full of servants where _il signore_ was usually in his study whenever he was at home, it was difficult. And with whom would he share his information? There was no one. Guglielmo, who hadn’t been seen since the incident at the Teatro weeks ago, believed him to be a traitor. He looked at the assemblage surrounding him. Anyone here could well be involved with the plot; Raimondo had no idea how far this extended.

No, best to find out what he could, and bide his time; after _Carnevàl_ ended, the household would settle down and he could perhaps find out more substantive information - and devise a plan to act on it. In the meantime, it was important to play his role, escorting _la signora_ through the various events, filling in his part in the portrait of an important family.

His thoughts went to his prior meetings with Guglielmo and how they always rushed into physicality. He felt a faint flame inside at the thought, which he immediately smothered, annoyed at himself. The man had been using him for information, that was all. Despite the feelings that Guglielmo had invoked, the kind of thoughts that Raimondo hadn’t had in years, there would be no assistance from that quarter. And now that it was clear that Raimondo was aware of the man’s tactics, he doubted there would be any more attempts. However unsettling the feeling of those lips or how the other man’s hands made Raimondo want more.

Raimondo shook his head and looked around the basilica, as the choir’s voices filled the space and thousands of candles burned to make the light seem almost as bright as the sun. It was not useful to think about such things right now; there were household preparations to be finalised over the last weeks of _Carnevàl_ , he had to find a way to uncover the secrets underlying the household, and time was running short on both accounts.

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Cold and stiff after the long hours at the basilica, Raimondo was rather silent during the gondola ride to San Zanipolo. Signore Cattivo had exited the basilica separately, and would meet them at the other church; so it was just he and _la signora_ in the swaying boat, making their way along the canals.

The Mass had been quite beautiful, despite its length. The pageantry, the candles, and the compositions commissioned for the vespers and matins were works of art in themselves. But he’d found himself wrapped in thought as _il Doge_ kneeled before the high altar, resplendent in his robes of offices, the embodiment of all that comprised _la Serenìsima_.

 _Why? Why do you wish to meet me?_

From Raimondo’s seat, _il signore_ had seemed quite serious about and quite pleased with his role in the proceedings. Later on, long into the night, when the Christmas devotions were complete – and the roll beneath the sheets over - Raimondo was sure he'd hear comments about the scenes that had played out over the hours, and how well the event had gone, and likely some pleasant and flattering comments about his own appearance and mien. It was all as it should be, but sadly it was also very predictable.

“Mondo?” A questioning note from _la signora_ brought him back to the rocking boat.

“Si, _cara_?” Raimondo leaned over to better hear the woman.

“Was that a sigh?”

He'd _sighed_? He hadn't caught that. “I – no, _cara,_ just wistful at the beauty of the devotions; this will be spoken of for years to come.”

“That is true, Mondo; little can match what we have just witnessed.”

“Si.”

“God willing. And, Mondo, I trust you will remember your place in all this, and ensure to the best of your ability that tonight will be a _complete_ success.”

“Ah, yes, _cara mia_ ; that is never far from my thoughts.” And he would be careful not to slip like that again.

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By the time of the Christmas Day feast at Ca’ Cattivo, Raimondo felt more and more at ease in one respect. No masked harlequins came to taunt him with kisses; no primal scent snaked its way into his nostrils. It was just a room filled with pleasant company, entertained by starched and bewigged musicians while his patron and his wife fêted and entertained their guests; and there was the feel of a fine crystal goblet solid in his hands, filled with a crisp red wine whose taste rolled across his tongue. He was solidly coming back to this here and now, centering himself as a trusted retainer of the Cattivos. No matter what _il signore_ was planning, Raimondo had come to lead a good life here, with people who treated him well, and he had much to be thankful for. How he would regret ending that, if his allegations were false, but how he wished he could replace it with something more honest. The honesty of a masked man whose face he’d never seen? Was that true honesty, then? Eh, no need to fret about that, about something he couldn't possibly have, which would likely disappear with the dawn.

A dawn he'd have to spend with Signore Cattivo, at any rate.

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The following day had started late, given that the meal had nearly seen the sun rise. To his surprise and not a small bit of delight, Raimondo had gone to bed alone, and awoken alone. But his mid-morning reverie was interrupted by a knock at his door.

“Master Raimondo, _il signore_ would like to see you in his study, right away.”

Raimondo looked up from his drawing desk, puzzled. It was true that his anger had turned his creativity into frustration, and he wasn’t sure whom he could trust anymore; but _il signore_ was rarely so formal with him – and never asked him to the study. Frowning, he stood to follow the servant out of the room and down the halls.

He opened the great doors and crossed the marble floor to stand before his patron. The older man raised his head to look Raimondo up and down, an unreadable expression across his face.

“Si, _signore_? You called for me?”

“Yes, Raimondo. I have some questions for you.”

Raimondo stood, expectant.

“As you well know, I am an important man in Venexia. As such, I have a number of enemies. I did not, however, expect to find them in my own household. Who is the man, Raimondo?” Signore Cattivo threw a sketch on the table before Raimondo – a sketch he’d done weeks ago of Guglielmo, resplendent and smirking in diamond-patterned harlequin suit and blue mask.

“The man? I –” Raimondo’s mind raced to put his patron’s words into some sort of context.

“You were _seen_ , Raimondo. Sneaking off to meet him. Is he your lover?” Signore Cattivo stood and walked to stand before Raimondo, a hardened look across his face.

“Sneaking? Lover? No, signore – he came up to me, he asked questions – “

“Which you answered, before you fucked him. Raimondo! How dare you.”

“No, I didn’t have sex with him – “

“Enemies, Raimondo, I have _enemies_. They would be overjoyed to see me fall, their own masters moving into my place. This man – your lover,” he spat the words, “ – likely works for one of them, trying to compromise me through you. I took you from the streets. I feed you, I clothe you, I show you kindness, I groom you for things you can’t imagine – “

“Why _did_ you take me from the streets, signore? And why do you want me to meet _il Doge_?”

“What?” A roar.

“I saw you slip out the other night. I was not following this man; I was following you. Why should _il Doge_ want to meet me, of all people? Is there some threat to _la Serenìsima_ in this?”

The slap was over, Raimondo clutching the side of his face, before he’d truly realised what had happened. His early survival instincts - reawakened, he dimly realised, by his interlude with Guglielmo at the Teatro - came to the surface for the first time in years, and his hand was raised to strike back before he could control himself. Catching himself, he dropped the arm.

“So that’s how it is, Raimondo? A lover _and_ your mistrust and rebellion? This is the thanks you give me? Then listen well: you will play your role and you will play it faultlessly. I thought to preserve you, but you may stay with _il Doge_ as everything unfolds. And you will not ruin my plans, which I have worked at for far, far too long for you to overturn.

“Guards!” Signore Cattivo raised his voice, a rare event, and two retainers entered the room. “Take Raimondo to his room, and make sure he doesn’t leave it unless I order so.”

There was no reason to resist; there was nowhere for Raimondo to go, and the guards would have brought him back anyway before he’d gone far. Drawing into himself in defeat, but keeping his head high, he followed them back to his room.

Once within its confines, the door was locked behind him, and all Raimondo could think was that Guglielmo probably had had the right of it.

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“Now, Raimondo – His Serenity will arrive in about an hour. Remember what have I commanded of you: be deferential, do whatever _il Doge_ asks of you – no matter what it may be. Anything he asks. Do you understand?”

“Si, _signore_.”

“Do not go against my orders, and I may yet be lenient with you.” Signore Cattivo gave him one more assessing look; then, having judged him acceptable, left the room. The door shut firmly behind him.

Raimondo felt like a stuffed toy: dressed in fine garments as he had never been before, like a pig waiting for the slaughter. Earlier in the day he had been led to a guest room in Ca’ Cattivo, where he now sat, awaiting his fate. Although he had been confined to his bedroom for several weeks, with scant contact with the household, a parade of tailors and fitters had come by in a steady stream in preparation for this meeting. He still had no idea of what his role in all this was to be. Apparently he was about to find out more.

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“And so you are the renowned Raimondo Della Straniero?”

“Si, _Monsignor_.”

“Turn around.” Raimondo moved to obey. “Slowly! I want to get a good look.” Raimondo slowed his turn. “Yes, very nice. Fine of figure and proportion – almost fitting that you are an artist. Have you had lessons, or are you self-taught?”

“I’ve always drawn here and there, although once I joined Signore Cattivo’s household I was given lessons.”

“With Paolo the Younger, I suppose?” Raimondo nodded. “Yes, I can see his influence in what I’ve seen of your work.” The older man frowned slightly. “Pour me a glass of wine.”

Raimondo moved to the sideboard, using the weight of the heavy glass carafe to calm the nerves that wanted to make his hands dance about.

“And pour one for yourself.” That would help as well. He poured two glasses of the dark red liquid, then moved back to stand before the other man, placing a glass before him.

“No, I want the one you kept for yourself. And sit down; your hovering like that displeases me.”

“Si, _Monsignor_.” Switching goblets, Raimondo sat in a chair, picking one that would place him at a lower height than the other man. He took a sip; then, feeling a sense of tiredness wash over him – how he so wanted this to be over – he placed the glass between his hands, balancing it on his lap, and looked directly at the other man.

“What fascinating eyes. So you are the one who did the study of the red-haired boy? What inspired you so?”

“He was a friend. I created the image to honour his memory.” He now looked _il Doge_ in the eye.

“Where is he now?”

“Dead. He… met with an accident. When we were boys.”

“What of this one?” _Il Doge_ pulled out another sketch, unfinished; one that Raimondo had thought had been destroyed. The one that Signore Cattivo had used to accuse him. Guglielmo.

“A sketch I started very recently. A reveller at one of the _Carnevàl_ galas.”

“So you don’t know him.”

“We spoke briefly, but I know very little about him.” That much was true.

“Shame; he’s quite an attractive lad. You must agree, else you wouldn’t have sketched him.”

“I agree, _Monsignor_.”

“So you’re not one to turn away from male beauty, then?”

“God has endowed all forms with a measure of beauty; who are we to turn away from it?”

“Well put, Raimondo; I couldn’t agree more. Stand a moment.” Raimondo rose at the comment, a little thrown by the change in topic. _Concentrate, Raimondo, concentrate._

 _Il Doge_ came to him and stood close, peering into his face. “Yes, you have more than your own share of beauty, lad; it settles about you like a mantle and I’d hazard you’re scarcely aware of it. If only the world could understand the attraction to such beauty.” The man reached out and ran a bejeweled hand down Raimondo’s cheek. “Yes, very nice.” The hand moved down, past his neck, to brush almost casually against a nipple. Despite the layers of cloth between the hand and his body, Raimondo found it difficult to control his natural reaction to the touch. “You are a work of art yourself, Raimondo Della Straniero, one I would be more than happy to study.” He then stepped back and returned to his seat. “I would know you more, Raimondo, and what goes on behind your eyes, the colour of the Grand Canal as it flows by my windows.

“I have things to attend to; but I shall be free soon, and then we will get to know each other more.”

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The door pulled shut with a surety that startled Raimondo. _Il Doge_ wished to see him again, which meant that Signore Cattivo’s plans could be expected to begin as well. But nothing had started yet, which bought Raimondo some time…

To escape, to follow his instincts and run from this before it became uncontrollable. He would bet that Signore Cattivo had had the guard move elsewhere, at least out of hearing range, and that he hadn’t expected the man to leave quite so quickly. So there was a chance to act upon that, although the time it allowed would be brief.

Raimondo grabbed the cape _il Doge_ had thrown upon the couch. He could sell it as a quick source of coin, more than enough to get him out of Venexia and established elsewhere. Carefully opening, then silently closing the door of the apartment, he set out towards an exit. The cape was made of fine material which would fetch a pretty penny…

“Evening, Master Raimondo.”

Raimondo thought he’d hidden his surprise well enough.  The servant was a straightforward, honest woman, and wouldn’t suspect much. “Good evening, Penelope. And how are you doing?”

“Quite fine, sir.” A slight blush coloured her cheeks. “Although I’m surprised to see you in this part of the mansion. Was there something that you needed? Did the staff neglect something?”

“No, all is well. It’s just that – _il Doge_ was Signore Cattivo’s guest tonight. He repaired to a private room for a few minutes before joining the rest of the guests, and I am moving his cape for safekeeping.” Sometimes the lies could come quite easily.

“Ah, Master Raimondo! Always one for taking on extra tasks. I can take that for you, sir, and make sure it’s secure; no need to trouble yourself.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Penelope; I’m sure you have more than enough to take care of…“

“No, no, sir; your place is with our guests, representing the household.” She took the cape out of his hands and, shoving him away, bustled off down the hall. Raimondo sadly watched easy passage on an outbound ship, plus months of meals afterwards, recede into the recesses of the house.

At least he still had the chance to escape; the general household seemed unaware of his current status. Unsure of how long that would hold, Raimondo decided not to delay any longer and just depart. He stepped into a side hall and down a flight of stairs to arrive at one of the servants’ entrances.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the street, to smell the air of freedom.

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Of course, sudden freedom like this was much more complicated than he’d expected. Bereft of any cape, much less an ornate one belonging to a head of state, Raimondo quickly felt the winter chill. He judged that he could still sell his own finery, although he had to search out where, and to whom, and quickly. Plus he hadn’t eaten recently, which would have to be solved as well before it impaired his judgment. It had been many years since he had been accustomed to constant hunger.

If he could just find a place to hole up for the night, this would all be easier to solve; one night’s sleep could work quite a bit of magic. But first...

Raimondo headed for the Rialto. A well-dressed young man would be the last to be suspected of lifting a morsel or two from the vendors, and the crowds would help shelter his activities. Maybe he could even secure an apple in memory of Tonio.

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Some time later Raimondo had tucked himself into a forgotten storage space behind the Church of San Giacomo di Rialto.  He’d remembered it while wandering through the market; years ago it had served two puppy-sized boys well, but for a grown man it was somewhat snug. However, it was serviceable, and one night would cause no great hardship.

His old skills were quite rusty, however. He’d managed to liberate no more than a stale crust and a bruised pear. Nothing close to Ca’ Cattivo’s kitchens, though sweet for all that. On the morrow, he could no doubt sell his own clothing and find some less obvious threads, perhaps present himself down by the docks for work on an outgoing merchant vessel, no questions asked, and leave Venexia for the present. Not his ideal choice, and he would greatly miss his homeland, but choice was not something he had at the moment.

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Raimondo awoke from a dream of light and sunshine and a blue-masked figure beckoning him towards an uncertain future. Most of the night had been spent shivering in his thin clothing, the temperature having dipped unexpectedly low even for January. Perhaps he could have begged sanctuary in the church, but they would have recognised both his social class and face. He would rather leave no trail. No, the best thing would be to rid himself of Signore Cattivo’s clothing; it was in fact becoming too much of a hindrance.

At least he hadn’t stretched upon awakening, his usual habit; it would have led immediately to a sore head. There was little room in his cubbyhole. He smiled to himself as he remembered his brief dream. Guglielmo. How much would remain unfulfilled there.

Well, he had one last errand to carry out in Venexia, sad though leaving might be. He crawled out of the close comfort of his protective hole, then brushed down his clothing. There. A little untidy, but not enough to cause too much suspicion. Standing up straight, he turned towards the street –

\- To come eye-to-eye with Signore Cattivo’s guards. They’d found him.

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The last nights of _Carnevàl_ , and the finest gala.

The Cattivos were recognised as the cream of Veneçiàn society, perhaps second only to _il Doge_ himself. Some hazarded that, given the age and political fortunes of the Doge, they _were_ in fact the pinnacle of Veneçiàn society. Whether or not public opinion reflected the truth of their situation, their activities were closely followed, their entertainments highly anticipated, and their gala the most in demand.

Thus the Cattivo gala was given pride of place at the end of _Carnevàl_. This year’s festivities had been expanded to three days: to honour the Holy Trinity, of course, but also to cement the primacy of the Cattivo name among the families of Venexia.

The crowds that year were the largest ever. Varied and vivid colours flowed through the ballrooms, adorned with masks representing every creature known to man, and some perhaps that had never been imagined. Ca’ Cattivo was filled to capacity, members of the nobility being sure to be seen, as well as members of the lesser nobility looking to bring notice to their households.

The crush was almost impossible to navigate; but navigate it Bodie did, in an effort to find Raimondo. He had his orders from his lord Mucca: find the man and learn what information he knew; bring him in for a quiet interrogation if need be. Bodie’s ears still rang from the rebukes of his lord and _controllore_. This was what happened when he allowed his urges to get in the way of his job. The suspect would now avoid him, would not talk to him or provide any information…

And he might never get to touch that golden skin again.

His impatience in pushing through the crowds started provoking insults, so he slowed down. He’d made it into the ballroom, at any rate, and there was no need to push through as much.

Yes; there was Signore Cattivo, holding court, several of the members of the Council around him. He seemed quite at ease, a hearty laugh pealing from his lips, albeit just slightly forced.

At an adjacent table, his wife; beautiful as always, although seeming a little pale. Some of the other noble wives sat around her; they all spoke in a close circle. No Raimondo, although he easily could be off fetching something for her.

The crush of the bodies had Bodie wishing to remove his mask - an uncomfortably plain white one, not his favoured blue - if even momentarily. It was growing somewhat hot in the room, and a few hardy souls here and there had dared to loosen their own masks, assuming their positions would protect them from censure. He reached up to loosen the ribbons of his mask just a bit.

His breath stilled almost unconsciously as a figure crossed the back of the room to stand next to _la signora_. There he was – no, it was a different servant, handing her a fan. She took it, with a slight look of panic skittering across her face.

Something that Raimondo would have done for her.

Something was clearly wrong.

Bodie pulled his arms down, mask still in place. He had to find out where Raimondo was. Back he went through the room, this time apologizing as he moved through the crowds.

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Raimondo stared out from his balcony as he had a thousand times before. This looked useless; he had no way of getting down to the street undetected, and to whom would he go anyway? Signore Cattivo was a man of many friends and even more influence. Raimondo knew not where to find Guglielmo, and the man would not be receptive if he could find him. He had no way of contacting anyone, anyway; there was a continuous guard outside of his room. His only hope would to convince _il Doge_ somehow of the danger if he were to be given to him.

Raimondo snorted a laugh. Given. What did that mean, anyway? _Il Doge_ had a wife, the Dogaressa. They had several children. He couldn’t see _il Doge_ having the same tastes as his master; such tastes would create chaos among the ruling elites.

Then again, his master had served _la Serenìsima_ in various important posts for years, with those very same tastes.

More importantly, Raimondo had little to relate beyond some suspicions involving his patron and some foreigners. No, he would just have to trust his instincts and look for an opportunity. The saving grace was that he’d been in life-and-death situations before; at least this time he had time, albeit brief, to figure out how to present this to _il Doge_.

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There was a slight scraping on the balcony, and the curly haired head jerked towards the window, suddenly alert. He couldn’t see much, but the balcony doors cracked open, to be followed by a familiar dark-haired masked form. Guglielmo. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or crushed, but he knew he had to act.

He moved to the balcony and slipped out, pulling the doors to behind him. “Quietly,” he whispered. “There are guards outside my door, they wouldn’t be glad to see you here.”

“Raimondo.” Guglielmo first held him at arms’ length; then, after looking him up and down, ensuring his well-being, he possessively drew him forward into a kiss.

And how Raimondo wanted to respond – no matter what he did and how he tried to fight it, this one man had an unknown power to make Raimondo come alive. But it was all a ruse to gain information. Raimondo would do anything to preserve the government, but he would no longer personally surrender himself to that indignity.

At least he had a chance to do something about the information he’d uncovered. So he pushed back, breaking the kiss, putting an arm out to prevent any resumption of the embrace.

“You and I did not part on pleasant terms.”

“I know, Raimondo, and I owe you an apology. You did not appear at tonight’s gala, and I realised something might be wrong.”

“Another time. We have more important things to discuss, as much has happened since we last spoke. As it turns out, you might well have been right about a plot against the Doge.”

“Tell me what you have found out.”

“My master,” Raimondo paused to gather his thoughts, “My master is planning something against _il Doge_ , and I believe I am to be the means. He first told me that the Doge wanted to meet me, based on a sketch I did years ago as a child. My talents are far less than any artist currently at the Doge’s disposal, but apparently I am to get close to _il Doge_. I have met with him once, and he has expressed an… interest. But I have no knowledge of the eventual aim, and due to my patron’s anger – since he believes you and I are lovers – I am to stay with _il Doge_ as the plans unfold. I am to meet with him again in the near future.

“In addition, my patron has been in contact with foreigners, with whom he has met in secret. That I witnessed myself.”

Bodie gave him a searching look. “Do you know which foreigners? And when this next meeting with _il Doge_ is to take place?”

“No, to both questions, although I know there’s something significant planned for the third night of the gala. There have been tailors and such in and out of the mansion for weeks. I am to be presented in only the finest garments, bringing only the finest manners – and his downfall.”

“That would be in two nights – not much time to do anything. Raimondo: listen well. Find out what Signore Cattivo wants you to do. We will do our best to get you out of this position; but, for the love of all, ask what forgiveness you can of your master and play along. Once you’re with _il Doge_ , we will be in a much better position to help you.”

“I still have no idea who you are or who you work for, Guglielmo, or who ‘we’ refers to – and I have no idea how to regain my patron’s trust. I don’t even know how you have arrived on my balcony when I have tried to find a way off it for several weeks. But I have no choice but to trust in you. Please do not cause me to misplace that trust.”

“That is far from my aim, Raimondo Della Straniero. Very far. I must leave now, before you and I are discovered, which would prevent us from doing anything to help you. Remember what I said – get back into your master’s good graces, get to the Doge’s palace, and we can help you from there. We will discuss the rest after that. And perhaps I’ll tell you how I came to be on your balcony.” Guglielmo gave him a quick smirk.

Raimondo looked as though he wanted to say more, but just turned and retreated into the room.

Guglielmo looked after him, before sweeping his cape behind him in preparation of climbing back down to the street below.  He only hoped that they would be in time to save Raimondo Della Straniero.

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Raimondo stared out the window, watching the boats bob along the docks. Rain, rain, rain and still shut in here, waiting for _il Doge_ to return or _il signore_ to relent. Having measured the height of the balcony yet another time, but with no clear way to escape; wondering how Guglielmo had managed to climb it the one time he’d appeared. Wondering if he’d appear again.

The room was starting to feel claustrophobic, the heavy wooden furniture conspiring to press inwards, the throws and bedspread threatening to suffocate. His life in the household had always been fairly circumscribed; but now, trapped within the walls, he keenly felt the loss of his freedom, perhaps the most keenly since leaving the streets. But the streets had taught him a number of things; it had been years, but he could still call on them for wisdom if he had to.

Over time, he and Tonio had escaped from various scrapes and traps. There was a way out. There was always a way out. He would remember that.

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The servant girl, terrified, had placed the tray on the floor and left straightaway. Raimondo ignored her, only turning away from the window once she’d fled. Obviously the entire household was now aware of his status, although who knew what they’d been told.

He was allowed the same dinner as the rest of the household, although with a less elaborate presentation. Dinner wasn’t at the top of his concerns; but he was famished, and he wanted to keep his strength up, so he ate the food that was on the plates.

He reviewed his options yet again. Guglielmo had told him to get himself to the Doge’s palace, but Raimondo wasn’t sure how that was to happen. And what if it weren’t to happen? Having other plans would not be unwise. So: overpower the servant sending up a tray. Tie the bedding together and climb down the side of the building. Tie the bedding together and climb _up_ the side of the building. Work the pins free of the door hinges and take the door out of the doorframe. Testing the pros and cons of each plan in his head, twisting each around to find the weaknesses, overcome them… a yawn interrupted his thoughts. _So tired._ He’d thought he’d managed sufficient sleep the prior evening, but perhaps he’d been more restless than he thought. Sleep would be a danger to his plans.

The room seemed to swim a bit before his eyes. Raimondo glanced at the tray, suddenly wary. Something must have been drugged. The stew? The wine? He had tasted nothing suspicious in the meal. And why drug him? He didn’t think he’d been poisoned; that wouldn’t fit in with Signore Cattivo’s plans. _Il signore_ must need his cooperation, such as it was, for something. Something which, in the end, he’d never disclosed to Raimondo.

He fell to his knees, no longer able to support himself standing. Not much to be done now; he would have to see this out, and find out the details later. At least if he were being moved, it would open opportunities to escape later on.

He tipped over, unable to do much beyond stare straight ahead. The door opened and closed quickly; he could hear rustling and feet scrabbling around behind him. Hands tipped him over onto a rug that had been spread out behind him and rolled him into it. He felt himself being hefted up, and then he felt nothing more.

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Raimondo came to, but comprehension itself was slow to return.

He was in a strange bed in a strange room, a turbulent mural with angels and saints and demons glaring down at him. The room’s setting was very ornate, much more so than Ca’ Cattivo, as elegant as that was.

A set of windows, curtains drawn back, let in afternoon sunlight - sunlight which streamed through in strips to warm the bed and his chilled skin. Skin: was he nude? No, not quite; he wore some sort of loincloth, which just covered his nether regions, but nothing more.

Raimondo made to sit up and immediately regretted it as the action set his head spinning. He still felt muddled from whatever had been added to his meal. Meal; he’d been - drugged; he had - passed out: memories of the night before, and the overall situation, were returning to him in bits and pieces. If this were as he thought, he must be somewhere in _il Doge_ ’s palace.

Guglielmo. Guglielmo wouldn’t know, or wouldn’t know right away, that he’d been smuggled out of Ca’ Cattivo. It would be up to Raimondo himself to put together some plan of escape, or at least to stay alive and whole if the other man were still planning to come.

He forced himself up again, pushing past the pain, only to be brought up short. That was when he realised he’d been chained to the bed by the wrist, like some animal.

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His wait wasn’t long. Perhaps it was no more than mere minutes, as he’d heard the clock tower’s bells only once since waking, but it seemed much, much longer. Eventually the door of the room opened with a soft snick, and a figure slipped in. His Serenity, _il Doge_.

“Ah, Raimondo,” the other man smiled gently. “You have awoken. I told you that we would have time to get to know each other more, and now that time has come.” He crossed over to a cabinet which he first unlocked, then removed a tray from its recesses. Approaching the bed, he placed the tray on an adjacent table. “Do not worry,” he followed Raimondo’s gaze down to the tray, “the instruments may look fearsome, but can bring much, much pleasure.”

The contents of the tray filled Raimondo with no small amount of horror. Pincers, needles, paddles, even a whip. Several items that he could not identify.

“Cattivo has told me much about the wildness of your nature. I want to touch that within you, teach you about the pleasure of pain. I can take you to places that you have never seen, show you things you have no knowledge of - give you power and prestige beyond your ken.”

He ran a hand down the length of Raimondo’s torso.

“But you will have to learn to submit, to trust.”

The hand turned over, and the heavy jewels and metal clasps of the many rings dug into Raimondo’s skin, leaving thin trails of red pain.

“It may seem fearsome, but it is just a way of setting yourself free.”

The head bent, and a tongue licked at forming blood.

“We all want freedom, no?”

Raimondo was shocked speechless.

“True freedom exists, although there are few who would ever understand it. Consider yourself blessed to be introduced to the knowledge of such freedom.”

The man gave him a fond look, then turned back to his tray. Raimondo sat up, then scooted as far away as the chain would allow. There was little leeway to move himself.

 _Il Doge_ turned back, a thin, sharp, angry-looking blade in his hand. “Raimondo, come. Let us start.”

Raimondo stayed where he was, anchored by the chain, eyes unblinking on the other man. He had to concentrate, to think of how to get out of this nightmare.

“Come now, there’s little to be afraid of.” _Il Doge_ came to the edge of the bed; then, holding his captive in place, brought his face down and sealed his lips against Raimondo’s.  The sensations came together: the heavy torso pinning him in place; the dry, fetid mouth suffocating him as it stole his breath; the hazel-flecked eyes boring into his, and the beginning of a trail of fire running down his side. He started to scream into the mouth.

And then they were gone. The weight was suddenly removed, and the temperature around him dropped.

 _Il Doge_ had been wrenched off Raimondo by another figure who now had his wrist in an iron grip, the knife held in the air between the two men. The younger man had his youth, but _il Doge_ was fit, for all his years; the two grappled and swung about the room, in an effort to gain the advantage over the other. It looked like the stranger, forcing _il Doge_ against the bed, would have the upper hand; but Raimondo saw what the other man couldn’t, that _il Doge_ reached behind himself for another sharp tool from the tray.

Raimondo was never sure exactly what happened after that. Perhaps it was a childhood spent defending himself, fighting to stay alive, and those skills had come to the fore. He felt a certain fury, matched by the knowledge years of self-preservation had burned into him. As _il Doge_ raised his other arm, Raimondo grabbed what he could from the tray, awkwardly slammed it into the older man’s side, then pushed. The tool slid all too easily into the body, as _il Doge_ gave out a strangled gasp, and fell limply against the edge of the bed.

Raimondo stared at his lord, _il Doge_ , the Most Serene Prince of _la Serenìsima Repùblica Vèneta_ , the other eyes staring back, unseeing. __

He knew he should feel like a trapped animal; never had he wished for any of this. _Il Doge_ now lay before him, and no one would believe it was not his intention. And the prisons were in this very building…

But he felt a strange sense of calm at the same time. He was free of the nightmare. He had saved the stranger. Perhaps he could also be free of the betrayal of his patron, of the life that had been forced upon him, of all the things that had happened to him since he had been that lad kidnapped from the marketplace. For the first time, he began to feel like himself.

He looked up to the other man, who was standing a few feet away, panting hard and carefully studying him with cornflower-blue eyes. The handsome pale face glanced from him, to the man on the floor, then back at him.

“Well, Raimondo Della Straniero, I told you I would come for you under _il Doge_ ’s roof, but you didn’t have to take things quite this far.”

Before him stood the unmasked Guglielmo.

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In the end, they left _il Doge_ sprawled as he had fallen. The tools on the tray were carefully wiped and placed back into the cabinet, as though they had never been removed.

Guglielmo quickly tended to Raimondo’s cut, checking that it was not serious and would not prevent him from travelling.  Apologising for having no other clothing for Raimondo to wear, Guglielmo then produced a pair of capes and tricorn along with full-faced _bauta_ masks: nondescript wear that would make them blend into the outside crowds. After quickly but silently costuming themselves, they slipped into the hall and made their way downstairs, through the building and out a door into the square. They passed several servants and messengers; but, beyond very cursory nods, no one marked their progress.

Once in the square, surrounded by the familiar crowds, Guglielmo pulled Raimondo off to the side and just into a small alley.

“Are you well, Raimondo? You were drugged, and then injured - not to mention the other events that occurred in that room.”

“I am well enough to continue. We need to leave Venexia, no?” He swallowed thickly at the thought.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” He could admit it to Guglielmo “Yes, I am.” But he could switch the tables. “And you?”

Guglielmo stared, then smirked. “Actually, yes. Yes, I am; I do not know how this will end. So let us keep each other company.”

Raimondo managed to smile back at him.

“Do you trust in me, Raimondo?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then follow me silently, and say nothing.”

They took the back alleys, away from the canals, keeping to the shadows. Raimondo remembered little of the journey or the places they passed; he had no choice other than to follow the other man, so he concentrated on that. They eventually came to the side entrance of a plain yet substantial house, deep in the merchants’ district. Guglielmo rapped a series of knocks against the solid door, and it quietly eased open. They slipped in.

Once inside they crossed another series of corridors and stairs which ended in a large study, where a desk and several scattered chairs served as the main pieces of furniture. Behind the desk sat an older white-haired man; trim and compact but formidable for all that.

“Reporting back, sir.”

“I see that. And is this the famed Master Della Straniero?”

“It is indeed, sir.”

“Welcome, lad. My name is Mucca. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs. “We have refreshments as well, if you’re so inclined.”

Raimondo numbly nodded his head, his body running on nervous energy while his mind raced to observe and interpret everything. A glass of fortifying wine was soon clasped in his hand. He sipped the liquid at first, then gulped the remainder down.

“So, how are you, lad? Still in one piece, I see.”

“Er, sir.” Bodie broke in. “There’s been a complication. _Il Doge_ is likely dead.”

“Och, Bodie, I told you no killing! This complicates things no end.”

“Wasn’t planned, sir; he attacked Raimondo and then attacked me. No choice in the matter, sir.”

“Not the outcome I desired, Bodie - whether or not you were able to secure _Master_ Della Straniero.” Bodie’s familiarity towards the other man was noted. “It will take quite a bit of work to resolve this.”

“Does no one care that _il Doge_ is dead?” Raimondo broke into the back and forth. “That not only is the government threatened, but a human being is no more?”

“Actually, lad, _il Doge_ had been an ineffectual leader for years. The government has been teetering for a very long time, and _la_ _Serenìsima’_ _s_ enemies have been waiting for a very long time to see it fall. What Signore Cattivo was hoping to accomplish was well on the way to becoming fact regardless of his efforts; he more desired to take advantage of the situation and control the direction in which the cards fell.

“We are here to serve _la Serenìsima_ , and serve _la Serenìsima_ we will, _doge_ or no. Most likely, _il Doge_ ’s demise will be concealed until after _Carnevàl_ to avoid disruptions to the festivities. This still, however, complicates the situation.”

He looked more closely at Raimondo, who seemed about to collapse. “You’ve had quite the night, though. Go upstairs, have a meal and get some sleep, and we’ll discuss the topic again later.” He turned towards the other man. “Bodie, take our guest to a room. Tonight will be a late night; but Master Raimondo, I will speak more with you on the morrow.”

The two men stood, and moved towards the door. “And, Bodie? No dawdling with Master Raimondo. I will have need of your services in straightening this situation out.”

With a wave, Signore Mucca dismissed them, and the strangest audience Raimondo had ever had was over.

<>====================================<>

“So this is your room in the house,” Bodie led Raimondo into a small but gracious chamber, with a serviceable bed and a chest under a window.

“And this is the bed in your room.” He pulled Raimondo into the room and firmly shut the door, then took the man’s wrist and moved him the few feet to the sturdily-built bed.

“And this is you in the bed.” He pushed Raimondo over gently, but with just enough of an element of surprise to tip Raimondo onto the bedding.

“And this is me in you.” He then quickly moved onto the bed next to the prone figure, took the curly head into his hands, and lowered his mouth to take the lips below his.

“Guglielmo – stop. No!” Raimondo pushed back forcefully to halt the man in his tracks.

“What – am I not lying on you… in quite the way you would wish? That may be remedied.”

“Guglielmo – you are truly a bastard.”

“But my mother did know who my father was – at least she told me such. What is wrong? I want you, you want me – what else is required?”

Raimondo pushed Guglielmo away and sat completely up. “There is much to discuss, and all you think of is bed play. First are the events at the Doge’s palace. If I had it to live again, I would do the same; but he is dead, and the future is unclear. You brought me to this house, and introduce me to your Signore Mucca, who threatens me and calls you ‘Bodie.’ What is all this? What is going on? And what do you and your lord want of me?”

“Ah, a serious discussion before sex.” Guglielmo pouted a bit.

Raimondo just looked angrier.

“Si,... and you are far too intelligent to convince that way. So, an explanation.” Guglielmo, unhappy, sat back and settled himself on the bed.

“Where do I start? There is much I can’t tell you, Raimondo; it is for my master, Signore Mucca, to reveal most of it. But know that we work to protect _la_ _Serenìsima_ from all threats, as part of the Supreme Tribunal. Your master was intent on subverting the government and worked with its enemies to bring that about. It’s not clear how far he got; it is our job to uncover that. At this point, it is more than clear that you were used by your master.

“And most importantly: since you are here, we can protect you. But I cannot tell you what the future will hold.”

“And what of Signora Cattivo? And the rest of the household? They were just as much pawns as I was.”

“ _La signora_ will be taken care of; her status in this situation is well known among the right people, and her father is powerful enough to have the marriage annulled, if need be. Signore Cattivo may have ruined his household, but she at least will have some choice.

“And to answer your last question: Bodie is my family name, which I couldn’t share before. So now you have all of me - or at least you will, soon enough.”

“Sex again? I thought your lord wanted you to return straightaway.”

The pout was clearly pronounced now. “And so he did, and so I must leave for now. But do not think you will escape this. You and I will have our time together.”

He leaned down once more and, lowering himself on the other man, imparted a blazing hot kiss to seal his promise to Raimondo. Then, reluctantly rising, Guglielmo straightened out his clothing and left the other man with a searing look.

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“No, Bodie, you know that it isn’t as simple as all that.” Signore Mucca glared back at Bodie, more than willing to outstare the younger man. “I can’t let him go.”

“You can’t imprison him, either! He went against his lord, and saved my life -”

“Yes, lad, and we’ve been able to control the damage. As it turns out, Signore Cattivo expected that either _il Doge_ would kill Master Della Straniero - the drugs used included one to thin his blood, making it easier to flow - or that he would kill _il Doge_ in self defence. But as Cattivo was the first to find _il Doge_ ’s body, and Raimondo Della Straniero had disappeared with no trace from Ca’ Cattivo, Signore Cattivo is being held responsible for the actual death of _il Doge_ and suspected death of Della Straniero.

“But that creates one slight problem: Raimondo Della Straniero must disappear. Permanently. No, don’t look at me like that – you of all my agents know the truth of what I say.

“First, as the ward of Signore Cattivo, the man is too well known. If I let him go, he will be arrested for the death of _il Doge_ and tortured into confessing. And Signore Cattivo will go free.

“Secondly, he knows enough of who I am, thanks to _you_ , Bodie,” he glared at the other man, who briefly glared back before looking away, “to give Signore Cattivo’s adherents ammunition against _my_ lord specifically and the Supreme Tribunal in general.

“Combine the two, and he knows enough to create chaos. If he were to walk freely from here he likely would be found drowned in a canal within a day or two - after having been convinced to speak of what he knows, which endangers our work here. No, I can’t let him go.”

“Sir, he saved my life. And he’s spent over ten years as a virtual prisoner of Signore Cattivo! He won’t agree to being your prisoner, and I won’t let him be subjected to that, much less his death -”

“ _You_ won’t _let_ , Bodie? Who is the master, here?”

“Signore Mucca, Raimondo is nothing if not resourceful. He knows of the streets, he knows of the heights of society. There are contributions he can make for you. Perhaps not in Venexia herself, but the arm of the Tribunal stretches far - farther than the places where Raimondo Della Straniero would be known. He did, after all, provide information for us to pursue Signore Cattivo’s foreign contacts.”

“Perhaps you are right, Bodie. And perhaps there is another way to resolve this situation. I will think upon it.”

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“Now, lad, we must speak about this situation alone. Bodie has more than made his wishes known, and I would like to speak with you without his interference.

“As you know, we work here for the good of _la_ _Serenìsima_ , and the good of _la_ _Serenìsima_ demands that Raimondo Della Straniero vanish from the face of the earth. Now, this need not be as dire as it sounds; I have learned quite a bit about your background and your resourcefulness, and there may be a place for you here. I can always use a pair of skillful hands.”

Raimondo looked at him coldly. “And what would _this_ entail? I will not become a whore for you.”

“Not whoring – surveillance. I have need of those who can get into situations, get information, and get out again. And with some of the conflicts on the horizon for Venexia, I need operatives who can move in different worlds. I believe your background has given you the range and the ability.

“Here we work to make sure that _la_ _Serenìsima_ remains free and strong, so that others need not be concerned. The work is difficult, and never publicly acknowledged; there’s little recognition, but it needs doing.

“You, Raimondo, are a rather unique being; you have spent years at the top of the social structure of Venexia, and can move easily in that world. But you also have knowledge and skills from the streets, which enables you to move there as well. I can give you the chance to join us, to help with our work. It won’t be easy, and it won’t always be successful, but you may be suited to it.

“Within the organisation we can protect you from those who would know who you are. Outside, we cannot guarantee anything.”

“And I suppose I have no real choice.”

“Unfortunately, no. It would be too much of a risk to let you walk free.”

“Then I have one demand. I should like to work with Guglielmo.”

“With Bodie? One of my most seasoned agents with a new recruit?” Why, lad, the two of you have little in common. You barely even know him. Plus your skills still need training and refining. Why would I pair the two of you?”

“Because I trust him. Much more than I trust you. Because I have, to a certain degree, already worked with him, and we managed to secure each other’s safety. And because _he_ trusts _me_ , enough to have returned for me. Despite any of your beliefs in my guilt or innocence.”

“Well, then, Master Della Straniero, I see you’ve thought about this. For a man with no choice, you have considered this carefully.”

“My own considerations are the only thing I have left; truthfully, the only thing I’ve had for years.”

“And you have provided a measure of benefit to _la_ _Serenìsima_ in this matter, after all.”

“I would believe that is so.”

“Then I will think upon your request, lad. In the meantime, I ask that you return to your room. I will inform you presently of my decision.”

“Fair enough, Signore Mucca.” Raimondo tilted his head as a parting gesture, a strong gleam in his eye, and left the room.

From the hall bits of conversation drifted back to Mucca. “So, how did you fare?”

“Well enough; I spoke my mind, he said he would consider it. Now we wait.”

“What did I tell you? His name may be Mucca, but he can be reasonable. He’s not always as stubborn as a cow...” The voices faded as the men moved further down the passageway.

Mucca smiled to himself. Truthfully, he had already thought that Della Straniero showed promise, and that a pairing with Bodie could work well; he’d noted how the trust between the two had developed and strengthened quickly. He had just wanted them to reach that conclusion themselves - with the barest help from him, of course.

However, it was still true that Della Straniero could not remain in Venexia; the danger was too great. Now to figure out just _where_ to send them...

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“And tomorrow, he sends us to the isle of Capri.” Guglielmo glared at Raimondo, at the window, at anything that got in the way. “Capri! He may as well send us to Cathay; it would be just as far from civilization.”

“Pirates, pestilence, and political unrest. It can scarcely be worse than remaining in Venexia. And at least there would be a bit of freedom to be had.” Raimondo responded to the complaint, the world-weary look across his face belying his optimistic words.

Bodie decided he knew how to cure that.

“There will be freedom, and there will be trials. It will be hard, and it will be long, but we will work through it together well - I can feel that.

“But there’s no need to think on this now; we have the entire night with no cares. Tomorrow Lent starts; who knows what it may bring? Let us enjoy now, the last night of _Carnevàl_ , and each other. Other worries can be left for the morrow.”

Raimondo regarded the face looking into his. Handsome, rugged, smirking lips and blue eyes twinkling with promised mischief, this was the face of a man who brought out something sharp-edged inside Raimondo: a feeling that was new and vaguely familiar at the same time, a feeling of freedom that he could grab and hold onto in both storms and sunshine. The feeling he’d felt as a child, running barefoot along the cobblestones. Well, he was no longer a child, but he would never let go of that feeling again.

After all, tonight _was_ the last night of _Carnevàl_ \- a time to celebrate and perhaps create one’s own lapses, momentary or permanent. He reached for Guglielmo - no, Bodie - and pulled him down.

Surprise and even a bit of happiness crossed Bodie’s face – and then he leaned into the kiss.


End file.
